


Slow It Down

by orphan_account



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe- Modern Setting - Freeform, Auguste Lives, Blind Character, Clients to lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, NHL Star Damen, Student Laurent, Sugar Baby Laurent, Sugar Daddy AU, Sugar Daddy Damen, canon warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Freedom from his uncle, it's all he's ever wanted, and Laurent will use any means necessary to achieve it.  Even if it means sacrificing his dignity and self to a sugar daddy.  What Laurent doesn't expect, is to find sanctuary in the contract with NHL star Damen Akielos.  And he most certainly doesn't expect to develop feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a little something to get my feet wet as I work on my massive fic (which is AU but set closer to the Canon universe than this one). And I love a good sugar daddy fic. Written with help by yelling at one of my true loves- J (who helped me with Laurent's RP descriptions) and also Serra who lets me shout at her all the time about my HCs. I love you both very much.
> 
> I wanted to make Damen a sport star, but the literal only sport I know anything about is Hockey, so that's what I'm going with. You may see random NHL and/or Check Please name-drops, but none of the characters will actually feature in the fic, so I'm not tagging Hockey RPF or Check Please.
> 
> This fic is somewhat canon compliant regarding Laurent's past abuse. It will not be mentioned in detail, but Laurent is dealing with the effects of having been abused as a child. so please take care if that's a trigger for you. I will make sure to put warnings in the notes of each chapter.
> 
> most of this is already written, and updates should be fairly quick. This first chapter is more of a prologue, and the following chapters will be much longer.

“Oh this is a bad idea. This is…Damianos, in the history of shitty ideas you’ve had, this might be the worst.”

Damen looked up from his laptop monitor with a slightly exasperated, slightly fond grin over his full lips. He stretched his arm above his head, the sleeve of his Henley riding up along his forearm, and he dug his fingers into the back of his curls.

The screen sat in front of him, the welcome message friendly and chipper, goading him into pushing the button. All the forms were filled out, everything had been electronically signed. All that was left to do was hit send.

“I don’t know why you’re panicking, Nik,” Damen said easily. “I mean, it’s not like this is going to affect your salary, and…”

Nikandros whirled round on his friend, his eyes narrow and almost furious. “You think this is about my salary? You think I give a shit about…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damen! You’re a fucking celebrity.”

“I’m a hockey player,” Damen said mildly.

Nikandros looked up, his dark eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring with irritation. “You’re one of the highest paid players in the NHL. You’ve been leading scorer in the league for three years running, and you’ve got five Stanley Cups under your belt. Okay? People who don’t know hockey know names like Crosby and Gretzky and Akielos!” He threw up his hands. “How do you not see what a disaster this is!”

Damen bit his lip, hating that he’d upset his friend as much as he had, but he wanted Nik to understand. “Look,” he said, pushing his laptop aside to rest his elbow in the space there. He curled his knuckles into a fist and rested his chin on them. “After that huge report on people using celebrities for catfishing…”

Nikandros looked even more murderous, if possible.

“It just got me thinking. I mean…I have money…”

“Damianos,” he warned. “You’re already dealing with Jokaste and if this is some misguided attempt to stop being angry or lonely…”

Damen shook his head cutting him off. “Jokaste has nothing to do with this. People need money, and I have it, and why not use it how I see fit.”

“So donate to a fucking charity!” Nik roared.

Damen rolled his eyes. “I do. I have…a lot of money,” he said. “From my parents, from my job. This company is reputable, everyone on here signs a nondisclosure agreement. I’ve already had Jord look everything over…”

“Yes well, he’ll be hearing from me too,” Nik spat about his boyfriend. “I know his ass didn’t kill himself at Stanford so he could advise you to sign yourself away to some money-hungry…”

“Don’t,” Damen warned, and wisely, Nikandros’ jaw snapped shut. “It’s one person, it’s on my terms.”

“You’ll be a sugar daddy,” Nik said.

Damen’s face grew into a smile he knew Nikandros wanted to slap away, if the other man were that daring. “I know. Now, when you finish with your tantrum…” Damen’s voice trailed off as he clicked on the touchpad, and sent the document, “you can come back and help me pick someone. I should start getting offers by tomorrow.”

*** 

Damen stretched just before he hopped off the ice, hobbling down the tunnel, into the locker room. It had been a good practise, his body aching pleasantly, cheeks burning a little from the cold. Pally—their goalie—clapped him on the back.

“Not bad, Cap. Feeling it today?”

Damen shrugged. The truth was, he was feeling antsy. As soon as Nik left his condo, he’d been second guessing himself and the website. Yes, it was a spur of the moment thing, and really he didn’t want to think about what his parents would have thought of the idea.

But it seemed right at the time.

Damen lived for these sorts of things. Nothing brought him greater comfort than helping others, and maybe it was selfish, and maybe there was something strange about him wanting to focus his attentions on a single person but…perhaps it wasn’t that bad.

According to the organisation he was working with, there were plenty of people who were interested in doing the same thing as he was doing. Maybe…maybe a little differently. The frank chat he’d had with the woman over the phone had set him straight. “A lot of these people are older men who are looking for sex. Strings attached, obviously, but a lot of them are in high-powered jobs with wives and children, and they want something more.”

“That isn’t…that’s…not what I’m about,” Damen stuttered.

“That’s fine,” she’d said in a rather soothing manner. “We’re not going to pressure you. You set your boundaries on the form, the client will set theirs. You’ll negotiate, sign a contract, and then adhere to it. We won’t match you with someone whose expecting more.”

Damen had flushed. “Is there…I mean is there an option where I’d say I wouldn’t be opposed to a physical relationship, but it’s not required?”

She’d just laughed kindly. “Yes, Mr Akielos. There is.”

And there had been. It seemed like every nook and cranny had been taken care of. There was a fine if Damen wanted to terminate the contract early, and an agreement that any monies or gifts given to the client, could not be rescinded, even in the case that the client was the one to break contract. Damen had ticked the box saying he would prefer his client not be publicly dating anyone else, but he tried to keep the restrictions on them as fair and limited as possible.

He wasn’t doing this to fulfil some fantasy. Not really. He didn’t think.

He just…wanted to help.

Enough people were using his image to catfish strangers online and get what they wanted, the least he could do was ensure one single person in the world had the real deal. Even if they would be contractually obligated to never, ever speak of it.

Even if Nikandros thought he was absolutely and utterly out of his mind.

But with as confident as he’d felt, by morning he was wondering if Nik was right. What if this did destroy him? What if there was a leak, what if this got out? He’d half a mind to ring up Vannes and tell her to cancel, but he couldn’t do it in front of the team. The last thing he needed was for them to get any wind at all of what he’d been up to during Bye Week.

It had been a closed practise, so Damen was able to skip fans and autographs and any sort of selfie-mill, and make it to his car, rushing home. Nik would be by later to discuss any business they had—him functioning as his PA, PR guy, and half the time his bodyguard, whether he needed it or not. He didn’t have much going on, luckily, and his agent had a few shoots lined up for some cereal, and something for Sports Illustrated, but that was weeks away.

He was looking forward to settling his nerves, and focusing on the rest of the regulation season. The Delpha Gladiators were in the running for the playoffs that year, and he was ready to win the damn cup and spend the summer possibly in Ios with Jokaste and the new baby. If she’d agree.

It was bad enough he had this on his plate, Nik had been right. He was also looking after Jokaste—who had showed up on his doorstep, ten months after leaving him for Kastor, her belly round, and tears in her eyes.

“I can’t find him anywhere. I think he’s dead,” she spat. And there hadn’t been word of him in months.

Damen was still hurt, still bleeding raw on the inside from what she’d done, but she knew he wouldn’t turn her away. It was not in his nature. Especially if something had happened to his brother.

Now she was growing larger by the minute, sleeping in his guest room, and reminding him of everything he’d wanted with her, and she’d given to someone else.

He supposed justice was often poetic.

Feeling more exhausted by that than practise, Damen stumbled into the condo and tilted his head, listening for signs of life. He was met with the gentle hum of the kitchen appliances, and the ceiling fan in the lounge. But the rest was utter silence. Jokaste was either out, or asleep, and that was good enough for him.

He stared at his laptop on the table like a beacon, afraid to open it, but afraid not to. His fingers itched, and eventually he gave in, flopping onto the sofa and propping it up on his knees. He waited impatiently for it to load, and his email sat waiting, the little number in the parenthesis mocking him.

Seventeen messages.

Less than he expected, more than he was brave enough to open.

But he had to. Whether he was doing this or not, he wanted to know who was interested. The company’s job was to peruse their clients and send over those they thought would be a good match. Damen had ticked the box saying men and women equally—and though in his relationships he’d often preferred women, he wasn’t limiting himself. He’d never been afraid of his bisexuality, and for being in a professional sport, he’d endured the side-eyes and bigoted fans with as much strength as he could muster.

He was dragging his feet, thinking about all of this.

His fingers twitched on the keyboard, then he clicked the touchpad and opened his inbox.

The emails all lay out in a row, neat and bold with the name of the company discrete and careful, almost like a dating site. The subject was the name of the potential sugar-baby, and he scanned them. Ten women, seven men.

He was still all nerves as he perused the names, and he found himself quickly overwhelmed. They were all beautiful in their own ways—diverse in race, age, features. Damen had never really been hung-up on that sort of thing—with Jokaste it had been her fiery wit and sharp edges that had pulled him in. But he couldn’t deny she was beautiful, even when she was ripping his heart out.

And each one of these were.

It wasn’t until he paused over one—the third man in the queue—that he felt something prickle up his spine.

Laurent D’Vere. The name itself was enough to make him pause—unusual, definitely not American, even if he was.

He clicked on the profile, and was immediately met with the large photo—candid the way it sat, with poor backlighting, but it gave the impression a faint halo sat on his loose, blonde curls. His face was smooth, younger looking than he was—his twenty-three years five younger than Damen’s twenty-eight. His gaze was off-centre, like someone was speaking to him when the photo was being taken, but it added something to it. Something…more natural.

His profile was shortest of them all, succinct. 

He was a student at the University of Delpha—a first year master’s student getting his graduate degree in creative writing. He was unemployed, and his goal was to become a university professor. He lived within ten miles of Damen, didn’t drive by choice, not necessity, and his timetable was open after four pm most days. 

He was looking for someone to cover his tuition, pay off former loans, and for a weekly allowance which could cover living expenses. Gifts would be appreciated, but not necessary. Any physical relationship would be up for negotiation.

It was something Damen could do.

He almost clicked away, to look at the others, but he couldn’t seem to draw his gaze from the distant, blue eyes. Something about his face…something about the way he held himself, the way he sat poised like he’d been trained to do…it hooked him.

Before he could really think about it, he ticked the button and hit send.

An automated message would reach both Vannes, and Laurent.

**Hi, I liked your profile. I think we should meet.**

*** 

Laurent was at his kitchen table, a hot mug in his hands searing the tips of his fingers, but he liked it that way. It was distracting, keeping him from thinking about the email on his phone from his uncle. He couldn’t stomach it right now. He couldn’t stomach much.

He needed an escape. His place had felt like a sanctuary—across the ocean, in a new country where his Uncle’s claws couldn’t sink into him, keeping him trapped. Grad school had been his first, real act of rebellion, and he wished he had only stuck round long enough to see the look on his Uncle’s face when he received the news that Laurent had gone.

As it was, he hadn’t even waited to speak with Auguste. But he knew his brother was too busy to worry, and too interested in letting Laurent do whatever he wanted. Laurent had spent most of his life trying to protect his brother from the dark parts of himself, the parts created by a man who wanted to use Laurent to his own ends, to make Laurent feel like he had no escape.

But Laurent was not born to be broken, not like that.

August knew too little, really. Laurent had been hiding so long, that when the edges of his vision began to darken, the only person he told was his Uncle. “I don’t wish to worry him,” Laurent had confessed, terrified, barely a teenager, uncertain what it would mean for his future.

His uncle had laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, making Laurent afraid again. “It’s best that way. Your brother has much to worry about on his own. He, after all, has a country to run.”

So Laurent kept it to himself, and his Uncle believed with the progression of his disease, he could keep Laurent close—as close as he needed, for whatever he wanted.

He did not expect Laurent to run.

And that, Laurent knew, was the one thing he had in his favour.

His Uncle had never come looking. But he had made sure Laurent’s every need rested on his favour. His rent, his food, his schooling, his books.

Laurent swore he was sinking into a pit of despair until he’d heard about the website, until he’d been brave enough to look it up for himself, and sign his name on the dotted line, and sold his soul for freedom. It had to be worth it.

Months had passed, however, and he had not found a match. His limitations on what he would accept were too strict, too firm. The thought of someone having that sort of power over him, of putting their hands where his uncle had…

He stopped, breathed, and sipped his tea.

Then, in the silence of his small flat, his phone chimed. Laurent startled, and reached across the table for his glasses. They magnified what centre vision he had left—it was enough to get him by still—enough so that in bright light, in wide spaces, he didn’t have to rely on anyone.

His dining room was dimmer than he preferred it at the moment, but his screen was bright, and he swiped his thumb across it to see the message waiting there.

A message he hadn’t been expecting, but one he’d been desperately hoping for all this time.

**Hi. I liked your profile. I think we should meet.**

Laurent felt his heart stutter in his chest, out of fear, out of apprehension. He wasn’t sure he could take the disappointment of meeting someone, only to have them choose someone else. The accept invitation button was waiting, however—waiting for his answer.

Then Vannes would set up a date, and then Laurent would display himself like a prize, waiting to see if he would be sent back…as he supposed they all would do.

But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

His finger touched the button, and when he lifted it off, the message was sent.

**Hi. I would love to meet.**

Simple as that.

Laurent was one step closer—to selling himself, yes, but for freedom. And that, really in the end, was never too high a price to pay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of past abuse (nothing in any detail)

Damen wasn’t entirely sure why he was nervous about the meeting. Nothing was set in stone, he had a tonne of other emails with matches if this didn’t work out, and it wasn’t like he was losing anything. But oddly, he was invested. Oddly, he kept seeing Laurent’s face behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

The meeting was at a café in the building where the offices for the company who set them up were, and Damen had a feeling at least half the people in the café were there for the same reason as him. It should have been comforting, but it was strange to be surrounded by the people who were all overwhelmingly older, white men. Most of the second patrons were younger women, far more varied in race, but all sharing a similar air of nerves and anxiety to impress.

Damen got it. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be on the other side of this.

He understood everyone had different motivations, but he supposed there would have to be a level of desperation for him, if he’d ever needed to reverse the roles.

He found himself chewing on his lip, cupping his hands round his latte and feeling the heat sinking into his palms. His eyes continued to flick toward the door, and when it finally opened and Laurent strolled in, he was hit with a wave of dizzy anxiety.

His breath came out, slightly shaking as he rose. Laurent spotted him straight away—the place was bright, and his table was right near the window so he was hard to miss. He watched as colour mottled high on Laurent’s cheeks, and watched as he passed a nervous hand through his short, fly-away locks.

Laurent was dressed impeccably—a high-necked, very tight black, long-sleeved shirt, trousers, a messenger bag on his shoulder. His hair had the look of one who tried their best to tame the half-curls, but never quite managed it, so he kept them clipped short, midway down his ears and styled artistically to the side.

The only real difference between this Laurent and the photo was the glasses. Thick-lenses making his light eyes even wider. They were square, black-framed and modern with a swirl of blue colour which somehow looked out of place on him.

Damen found himself wringing his hands, and when Laurent stopped by the table and extended his own, Damen swiped his to ensure he wasn’t sweating before he returned the handshake.

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I think I’m nervous.”

Laurent raised a brow as he reached for his chair, pulling it back without looking away from Damen’s face. “Are you? Strange.” His accent was thick, his words a little too perfect, like most of his language had come from classroom learning rather than speaking with peers.

Damen blinked with surprise as he sat. “I…why is that surprising?”

“Well,” Laurent said, folding his hands primly, “aren’t I the one supposed to be impressing you? I mean, you could tell me to take my shirt off and dance on tables, and if I want your money, I’d have to do it.”

Damen felt that in his chest, a sort of anger that Laurent assumed all of this was about humiliation and power imbalance. Yes, he had the money, but it was a give and take, and Damen found the idea that Laurent would assume it was about subjugation a little…upsetting.

“I’m not going to ask you to do that,” he said after a moment.

At that, Laurent chuckled, but it wasn’t a kind sound. “I see. Well. What shall you have me do?”

Damen licked his lips, then signalled to the server who was hovering nearby, on edge to see if they needed anything. “There’s a menu if you like. The drinks aren’t bad. I’m having a…”

“Café au lait,” Laurent said. He pronounced it in his own language, and it sent shivers up Damen’s spine.

Damen, who had been speaking Veretian since he was a young child, made the choice, and switched. “Feel free to order something to eat, if you like.”

Laurent startled at that, giving Damen a careful look. “I was unaware you spoke Veretian.”

“I’ve been fluent since I was young. My parents wanted me to be…” He searched for the word, then found it and smiled. “Diplomatic. If you’re not comfortable with it…”

“It’s fine,” Laurent said, then dismissed the server with a wave of his hand.

Damen was surprised by the gesture. It seemed second nature, like a person who was raised similar to himself—high-powered, rich diplomats. Why, then, was Laurent doing this? It seemed a little too personal to ask just yet, so he sat back instead and sipped his own drink.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he finally confessed with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve never…done this before.”

“That much is obvious,” Laurent replied.

Damen laughed again. “Have you? Are you the expert here?”

There was a long pause before Laurent said, almost like a confession, “No one has ever been interested in my profile before.”

That was a shock. Laurent’s personality was a bit…abrasive, if he was being perfectly honest, but he’d found the profile captivating, charming even, in a simplistic way. Laurent knew what he wanted, and he asked for it in the most simple of terms. Damen disliked games, he disliked dishonesty, and Laurent seemed the most true of everyone he looked at.

“Well…I suppose I’ll consider myself lucky, then.”

Laurent gave a hum, not quite of interest, but friendlier than his tone had been before. He didn’t say much, but the server dropped off his Americano, and Laurent ran his finger round the wide rim of the mug without taking a sip.

“So…what do you do?” he asked.

Damen laughed. “Are you joking? Or do you really not know?”

Laurent seemed surprised by that, and leant across the table. His eyes were wide behind the thick lenses, and he gave another, more intrigued hum. “Celebrity, then?”

Damen shrugged.

“Likely nothing mainstream. I’m too busy with school to get out much, but I’d know at least that. Possibly…musician, or author.” He raised a brow as his gaze traced along Damen’s shoulders, down the expanse of his arm. “You’re large. So…sports?”

Damen laughed. “Sherlock, are you?”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t take deductive reasoning to notice muscle and posture. You’re either a model and actor who has to keep up the physique—but you don’t have the temperament for it. Or you play a sport.”

Damen looked at him, helplessly charmed by the sharpness of it all. Then he smiled. “Hockey.”

That seemed to startle Laurent more than anything. “Hockey. I didn’t…realise there was hockey here.”

“There’s an NHL team. The Gladiators.”

“I think I’ve heard the name,” Laurent said.

Damen felt strange—not entirely pleased Laurent didn’t know who he was. He thought maybe the anonymity would be a relief, but instead he felt…like he had to prove something. He cleared his throat, and this time when he took a sip of his drink, Laurent joined him.

“I’m the captain,” he said when he set his mug down. “We’ve won a few Stanley Cups. Actually, that’s part of…” he hesitated. “One of the things that’ll have to be written into the…contract,” he said, lowering his voice.

“I don’t think discretion is overly necessary here,” Laurent said with some faint amusement.

Damen huffed. “Yes well. I worry. If word got out…”

“Then you and every CEO and Forbes one-hundred in this room would be well-fucked. Except you probably wouldn’t because you’re all very rich and you’re all men. It’s expected of us, you know. To behave like cave men.”

Damen bristled. Laurent seemed to be testing him, perhaps. To show he was not meek, and he might earn what Damen gave him, but Damen would have to earn the affections right back. He wasn’t sure he liked it, and yet…he craved more.

“I am not a cave man,” he said.

Laurent hummed round the rim of his mug. “So what are you?”

“A hockey captain who likes helping people,” he replied. He folded his hands on the table near the mug and leant forward.

“Is that it?”

It was like a challenge, and Damen wasn’t the sort of man who could ever back down from a challenge.

“What would you like me to be?”

At that, Laurent laughed—properly, his head thrown back, light in his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that. That’s…slightly infuriating.”

Control issues. Damen could spot them straight away, and he knew from experience people weren’t desperate for control unless they had it taken away from them. He softened, then curled his hands round his mug and kept his voice easy and tempered. “I want to be happy, Laurent. And I want you to be happy. I think we can be beneficial to each other.”

“Our profiles matched well enough,” Laurent said evenly.

Damen shrugged. “More than that, I think. I matched with quite a few people, but you were the only one who caught my attention.”

Laurent’s expression didn’t betray much. He sipped his coffee, his jaw a little tense, but it was his only tell that he was not in his element. “I’m willing to compromise on quite a lot, if the weekly allowance is enough.”

Ah, now they were getting down to business. “I have a fairly large, disposable income.”

“From hockey?” Laurent asked with a wry grin.

Damen laughed. “From my parents. The stated weekly allowance on your profile is less than what I make in interest daily. The amount is negotiable.” He paused, then said, “I want to be able to give you gifts. As I see fit. You aren’t required to take them, but let me try and surprise you.”

“You have already,” Laurent admitted, and Damen wondered if that was his first, real bit of open honesty. The rest had been a bit…incidental.

“I would like you to accompany me on dates—our team does events. Family skates, and if we win the cup, there will be my cup day and the parade. I’d like to share it with you.”

Laurent glanced up at Damen’s face. “Do they know you’re gay.”

“They know I’m bisexual,” Damen said. “And single. I’ve no plans to tell them I’m entering into a contract.”

“So I’d be the boyfriend.” Laurent’s mouth curved round the word as though he hated it.

A spark of fear hit Damen, and he wondered if perhaps Laurent was desperate enough for this that he’d compromise his own sexuality. “Are you…interested in men?”

Laurent’s eyebrows shot up, then he said, “Is that a serious question?”

Damen shrugged. “You just said you were willing to compromise…”

“On things you require of me, not my sexuality,” he spat, then calmed. The pink in his cheeks faded to a dusty rose. “I prefer men. I do not…enjoy the company of women.”

Damen relaxed, letting out a breath, then sipping on the latte which was rapidly going cold. “Fair enough. Are those terms agreeable?”

Laurent blinked at him. “Is…that all?”

“I thought we can leave the rest up to open negotiation. I’m not specifically looking for an…” he choked on the words a bit, “intimate relationship, but I’m attracted to you. So if it’s something you’d be interested in…” He trailed off as Laurent’s gaze went a little steely, though his posture remained soft.

Instead of answering him directly, Laurent said, “You don’t talk like a hockey player.”

That startled a laugh out of Damen. “I thought you didn’t know any hockey players.”

“I don’t,” Laurent said primly. “However I’ve met a sports enthusiast or two. I also know most professional athletes are drafted very young.”

“I think that’s a terrible stereotype. We’re not all over-testosteroned, hyper-masculine cave men, as you said before. I went to University, but there are plenty on my team who didn’t, but they’re just as intelligent as anyone who did.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Laurent said.

Damen was tempted to fire back, that Laurent seemed far too poised to be a man desperate to give himself over for money, but he knew he would only say it to hurt, and that wasn’t necessary. 

It was better, he decided, not to answer at all.

When it was clear Damen didn’t have anything else to offer, Laurent shrugged and gave a tiny sigh. “As I said, I’m willing to compromise and negotiate as long as the weekly allowance is enough. Gifts are…” he hesitated. “Gifts are fine. Provided they’re not something I can’t accept.”

“Like a decapitated horse in your bed?” Damen said with a grin.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Like a house.” When Damen looked surprised, he said, “I’m not staying here. Not forever. My brother…I’m…” He stopped, and his body language was very clear—he had no intention of talking about that further.

“Alright,” Damen said after some time. “No houses. Car…?”

“I…don’t drive,” he admitted after some hesitation.

Damen wasn’t sure if that was a wouldn’t or a couldn’t, so he dropped it. “Then we’ll stick to the basics. I’ll get to know you, attempt to surprise you. Fair?”

Laurent shrugged, looking relaxed and casual as he thumbed the handle on his mug. “Fair. And I will accompany you wherever you wish, provided it won’t interfere with my lectures or studying. I’m graduating in a year, and there are times I don’t have to spare for…activities.”

“Luckily for you, the season keeps me busy. I’m going on a roadie next week…a six day stretch. So I suspect you won’t hear much from me until I get back.”

“Enough time to sort out the paperwork,” Laurent mused.

Damen paused, then extended his hand and when Laurent took it, he held on. His palm was soft, warm, well-manicured and his grip firm. Damen liked it. For all that he was sharp and offensive, Damen liked him. Which meant Nikandros would hate him.

It gave him a small thrill, in a way. Flustered Nikandros at least provided entertainment. And he knew Nik would do everything to protect him, should this go awry.

“I’ll contact Vannes then, and see about getting it all sorted before I go. It was…very nice to meet you,” Damen said. He lifted Laurent’s hand without letting go, his eyes searching for tacit permission to do the thing he wanted to do most. Laurent sensed it, because he nodded, and Damen let his lips brush over his knuckles in a very light, but lingering kiss. “We’ll be in touch?”

“I suspect we will,” Laurent said, and for the sake of propriety, Damen pretended he could not hear how Laurent had become breathless.

*** 

 

Laurent didn’t often take notice of the progression of his vision. It was slow-moving. At fourteen, when his doctor had sat him down and explained that yes, he was losing vision, no there was no treatment, and no, there was no way to tell how bad it would get, he felt like his world had come crashing down.

It seemed like everywhere he went, he saw his future. People with white canes, or guide dogs. People with hands on someone’s elbow, fingers reaching out for braille plaques and lift buttons. He was terrified. Of what it might mean for him, of who might be able to take advantage, when the day finally came that he couldn’t _see_ anything.

He never thought, never in this lifetime, he might feel soothed by the dark room of his flat, by his fingers dragging across his braille book.

He supposed it had taken a lot to get to where he was, and an ocean separating him from the man who would use Laurent’s failing eyes to make him feel more trapped. More…blind.

Laurent wasn’t safe from his uncle. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. Not yet, anyway. But for now he was apart from him, and that was enough.

He’d come home from the meeting, exhausted and overwhelmed, and a little afraid he’d been too much of himself that it had sent Damen running for the hills. It wouldn’t have been a surprise, really. Laurent didn’t have many friends, no social life to speak of because most people couldn’t handle him at his best, and no one tolerated him at his worst.

Unreasonable, irrational, angry.

In a way, the logical side of his brain told him that was normal. He’d suffered trauma, he was still under the thumb of his abuser, and with no way out.

_“If you bother your brother with your petty problems, you know his heart won’t be able to take it. That and politics? Laurent…do you really want Auguste to die?”_

Something whispered into his ear, over and over, since he was a boy. Auguste, with the weak heart, who overcame most odds to get to where he was. Auguste, with barely enough strength to run a country. Laurent needed to be stronger, to shoulder this on his own.

Because losing Auguste would be losing everything.

So long as Auguste thought he was safe, thought he was okay, Laurent would never have to worry about him. Not that way.

It would never be his own fault.

He pushed those thoughts from his head, desperate for a reprieve, and he quickly grabbed his laptop to curl up in his bed and google Damen Akielos. He turned up the screen magnification to take in every inch of image he could.

Damen, with his broad arms, and determined face. Most of the photos were him on the ice, his helmet and visor obscuring most of his face. But Laurent recognised the broad, round chin, the way his mouth was set in a firm line.

A few photos were promotional, ads for cereal and boxers with Damen grinning—a smile which Laurent had seen on very few people in his life. A smile which reached his dark eyes, making him light up like the sun. In many of those photos, Damen’s dark brown skin shone under the lights, covered in oil, his chest bare, shaved hairless, almost vulgar in a way as Laurent had always been uneasy about displays of skin.

And Damen, with his broad shoulders and legs that went on for days—had so much skin.

Nearly breathless, Laurent closed his laptop, and the absence of the soft glow plunged Laurent’s vision into mostly darkness, in spite of the light filtering through the window. He slid his glasses off, feeling for the nightstand, and let himself be enveloped by his duvet, and the cool evening air.

Hours later found him restless, his flat still dark, a book perched over his knees. He loved braille for the way he could close his eyes, rest his head back, and let his fingers do the work. It was soothing in a way he never experienced as a child, the way the words crawled in through his fingertips, like they were travelling up the expanse of his arm, to settle in his head, to paint a picture of somewhere far off, where he might not be Laurent, and a man like his uncle had never existed.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he’d chosen creative writing for any other reason, but he wished it. Sometimes. When life became a bit too much.

Unsure of the time, Laurent suddenly jumped when his buzzer sounded, and his brows fell into a deep frown as he rose. He navigated the dark room with familiar steps until his hand found the switches, and the lights he’d installed flared to life. He winced, the brightness a stabbing pain in his temple, but the centre of his vision focused, and he walked to the door, arms crossing after he opened it.

He was only vaguely surprised to find Orlant there, looking a little annoyed.

“Well?” the man said.

Laurent blinked at him. “Well, what?”

“You asked me to change from Thursday to today.”

For a moment, he stood in confusion until he remembered two weeks ago wanting to change. Orlant had been hired on as a reader—paid for by his Uncle which meant the man couldn’t be trusted. It had become glaringly obvious over the past few months that Orlant did not like Laurent’s uncle, and it gave him hope.

“I’m really not in the mood tonight. I’m sorry, I should have called,” Laurent said, trying to sound as polite as he could muster.

“This is the third time you’ve cancelled,” Orlant pointed out. “Aren’t you falling behind.”

“As frustrating as it is to read for myself sometimes,” Laurent bit out, “I can get it done. If only my uncle would understand I’m not completely helpless.” _If only he didn’t want me to be,_ he added silently to himself.

Orlant sighed. “He’s already warned me if you won’t comply, he’ll sack me and bring on someone else.” The threat of, the next person might not be so kind, went unspoken, but understood by both men.

Licking his lips, Laurent said, “Well I…” He hesitated. The very last thing he wanted to do was give himself away. He had no idea where Orlant’s loyalties truly lie. It was possible he only complied with Laurent’s uncle because he was being paid, but Laurent couldn’t trust that. “Fine. Come in,” he relented. “I’ve had a headache most of the day, however, so let’s make this short.”

They settled on the sofa, like always, and Laurent’s eyes slid closed as Orlant began to read Laurent’s assigned pages aloud. It was frustrating—helpful in a way because reading small print for Laurent was near impossible now, and braille text books for his graduate classes were difficult—if not impossible to come by. But he knew what this was. It wasn’t for his benefit—it was yet another way his uncle was reminding Laurent that even an ocean away, he would not let Laurent go so easily.

It was halfway through when Laurent’s phone chimed, and he startled out of his head, fumbling for it without really thinking. He hovered over the screen, but realised his text to speech was still on, and if there was an email from Vannes, that could be potentially dangerous.

“Are you going to check it?” Orlant asked, sounding a little annoyed at the interruption.

Laurent sighed, then slid the phone back on the arm of the sofa. “Later. Continue,” he ordered. He hadn’t been paying much attention before, but he paid even less now. If the email was from Vannes, what did it say? Was it a preliminary contract? Or was it a rejection.

He would have deserved the latter, for how rude he’d been.

The funny thing was, Laurent meant to walk into the café and be nothing like himself. He would be coy and sweet, he would make himself into whatever Damen wanted, in order to ensure this contract. One year of giving himself to this man and he’d have enough of his own personal money to disappear from his uncle’s life forever.

No debt, no financial dependence.

Just himself.

And his freedom.

But as much as he’d tried—he couldn’t bring himself to be anyone else. The most he’d managed was a few smiles, and curbing his tongue, softening his verbal blows. Damen had still seemed interested when they parted, but there had been hours between their meeting and now. Plenty of time for Damen to realise he was in over his head with a man like Laurent.

He needed someone soft, someone able to accept the kindness he offered without second guessing every move, without making him work so hard for it.

His fingers itched, desperate to find out what the email said. His fate hung in the balance.

Orlant seemed to be reading slower, his tongue like molasses so that when he was finally, finally finished, Laurent all-but shoved him out the door, and locked it behind him without saying another word.

He made his way to the sofa, tripping a little on the corner of the table which was unseen by the dark edges of his vision. But he didn’t care. He fumbled for his phone, didn’t bother with his speech software, and he opened the email.

He magnified it, his eyes roving over every, massive letter.

**Laurent,**

**I’ve received word from Damianos, and he has gone over an initial contract. Please call me so we can set up an appointment to go over the details, and see if there is any place we need to negotiate. Thanks, and speak soon, Vannes.**

Laurent’s eyes welled with tears of surprise. How? How had he managed to be so much of himself, and still get this meeting.

Who was this Damianos Akielos, and why would he take a chance on a mess like Laurent?

Still, Laurent knew better than to look a gift-horse in the mouth. He quickly composed himself, scrolled through his contacts, and pushed the call button.

“Hello, this is Laurent. I’m free to discuss the contract any time tomorrow. Thank you for your email. Yes, I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.”

Freedom was so close. Close enough to touch it, and Laurent planned to sink his claws in, and never let go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, but this chapter IS longer, and I'm also possibly extending this story beyond five chapters. The only caveat is that it's going to be longer waits between updates because I'm taking a summer course for my teaching cert which starts at the end of the month. But I'll be writing when I can, I just can't promise swift updates. And it won't be MUCH longer than 5 chapters, maybe 6 or 7. I'm not sure. I hope you like it anyway, and thank you for the lovely feedback so far! xx

The box sat in his hands was heavy, weighted, a little terrifying because the only person who’d given Laurent gifts in the past, gave them for a reason. A reason that made his stomach churn and head spin—and never, ever in a good way.

The box was black—the sort of terrifyingly pitch black of velvet, like the absence of light. It made him wonder for a second if Damen knew. But not even the organisation knew. Laurent had kept his condition a secret from anyone who would matter in that regard because the last thing he needed was rejection because the person believed he was incapable. Or worse—pity.

He didn’t really think it was a pun. What was more likely is that the box just came with whatever was inside it. And what was even more likely than that—Damen hadn’t picked it out himself. He was on a roadie, the word unfamiliar to Laurent until he’d spent two hours googling things about hockey. His eyes had gotten tired, so he’d switched to his text reader, but then even that had gotten grating, listening to the tinny, not-quite-human-sounding computer voice reading out hockey statistics.

He did discover that Damen’s team was doing well. They were probably going to win another trophy which was very good in the hockey world. He learnt Damen’s scores were impressive, even if he didn’t understand all those little numbers.

And he learnt their schedule had them playing outside of Delpha for a while. Then, when he reached playoffs, he’d have one game in the city, and one gam out until their team was either beat, or moved to the next round. Then it would continue and continue until these over-muscled men held a giant, cup-shaped bit of silver and steel—or whatever—and made messes of themselves.

According to photos which Laurent had seen of Damen wearing a white t-shirt, nearly see-through from all the champagne which was being spilt out of the rim of the cup, and over his face and torso. It was…obscene.

He didn’t stare for long.

Now, he was sat in his living room, on the sofa, turning the box over and over in his hands. He had a headache, so he didn’t want to draw this out, but he supposed this was the first of many. And it shouldn’t have been terrifying because the final version of the contract he’d signed said that gifts would be incoming whenever Damen felt it was appropriate, and well…this was Damen holding up his end of the deal.

Laurent dug his fingernails into the seam of the box, and pried it open with a grating sort of creaking at the hinges. The lid fell backward into place with a snap, and sat on a bed of more black velvet was a watch. Delicately banded, gold, with a wide face and only four numbers—the twelve, three, six, and nine.

He didn’t have to squint to read it.

Maybe…he was obvious. Maybe Damen could tell.

Or maybe this was the most expensive thing on the market and they were trending.

Laurent was a little too afraid to find out. He knew chances were, Damen would have to find out eventually. But he wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t ready to offer something to Damen which would make Laurent vulnerable. He couldn’t be in that position again. Not until he had some sort of power of his own.

Or at least enough money to make it.

His first weekly allowance had come with the watch. Two thousand dollars in cash—which was not ideal because it took him ages and ages to sort out the differences between denominations—but the last thing he needed was his uncle seeing massive deposits in his bank account. He slipped the watch, still in the box, onto the low table, and began to fold the cash into various shapes by amounts, then hid them in a shoe box at the top of his closet.

That sorted, he went back to the living room, took the watch out, and fastened it to his wrist. It sat, heavy like a weight. Like a cuff reminding him he belonged to someone. It wasn’t the best feeling, but he knew freedom sat just on the other side of that.

*** 

“You’re smiling.”

Damen looked up from his phone, the rushing sensation in his spine still making him tingle all over, and he slipped it into his pocket as he pushed up from the bench. “And that’s a crime now? Jesus, Lazy, why didn’t you warn me.”

“Fuck off, Cap,” the giant D-man said, elbowing Pallas who was pulling a towel off his wet hair. “You’re deflecting. We haven’t seen you smile like that since that bitch…”

“Watch it,” Damen warned.

Lazar sighed, but shrugged. “Fine, whatever. Anyway it’s been a fucking while, man. So who’s the lucky girl?”

“There isn’t one,” Damen said. “There might be someone I’m seeing, but I’m not getting ahead of myself right now.”

“Think Nik will tell us?” Lazar asked, elbowing Pallas.

Pallas smirked. “I bet he will. For the right price.”

Damen couldn’t help a small grin. “Good luck with that. See you on the plane.”

He ignored the sharp cries of, “Damianos!” as he slipped out the door, skilfully avoided the press, and managed to get to the bus that would take them to the airfield. He curled up in his seat against the window, then pulled his phone out again to look at the message on the screen.

It was a photo, of a slender wrist, the gold watch nestled there. The message was short—clipped, and very Laurent. **It fits well enough. Thank you.**

Damen didn’t know the man that well, but he had a feeling those six words were an essay of praise and thanks in Laurent’s world, and he treasured each letter.

The gift had been spur of the moment. He and Nik had done a bit of last minute shopping for Nik’s mother, and they’d passed by the shop displaying watches, rings, and necklaces. Normally Damen didn’t pay much attention to things like that, but the large face, and the glittering gold had captured his attention, and without really considering the purchase, he made it.

He had a moment of fear, exacerbated by Nikandros who was still upset Damen had actually gone through with the sugar daddy contract, that the gift would be ill-received. But he put it in the package anyway, along with Laurent’s weekly allowance, and set it for the delivery person to bring over during his time away.

In all honesty, he hadn’t expected anything from Laurent at all. The contract negotiations had taken place in separate meetings, in separate offices. The most Damen received were a handful of changes—all of them agreeable, the most notable one was that the money would come in cash, not bank deposits. But it was nothing that bothered Damen.

Soon enough they were signed, sealed, and contracted.

Then Damen got on a plane to play the Stars, and walked away with a small victory— 2-3, in OT which meant the Stars also got a point, but the Gladiators were still set for Playoffs and it was both nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time.

The most notable change was the fact that Damen was suddenly not looking forward to the rest of his roadie. Where he’d take comfort in not being home—in not being constantly confronted by the presence of Jokaste, the child who could have been his, and the looming question about whether or not his brother still lived, now he was restless. Now he craved home, he craved long stretches of weeks in the off season where he could take Laurent out. He wanted to show him everything he loved—his favourite places to eat, to watch the stars, his childhood home, maybe even a trip to the seaside.

But he couldn’t let his guard down, and he couldn’t let his concentration slip. Whether or not he had cups under his belt, he wanted this one as well. He wanted to make himself proud, and to prove his choice to follow his dream into the NHL was the right one.

In spite of what his father had thought before he died. And in spite of the way Kastor had always hated him for it.

Fishing through his pockets, Damen found his earbuds and slipped them in. Before he pushed play, he opened the message again, and typed out a quick- _We won tonight. Five more days, and then maybe we can see each other. Hope things are well. I hope you like the watch._

He hit play on his cool-down playlist, and his eyes closed. It wasn’t until there was a prolonged stutter in the music that he looked down and saw a message waiting for him.

**Congrats on the win. See you soon. -L**

A smile graced his lips, soft and easy, and as the other guys filed onto the bus, his eyes closed again, and he dozed until they reached the plane.

*** 

Taking a huge breath, Damen attempted to temper his foul mood before heading out. The last four games of his roadie were terrible losses. Not enough to knock them out of a playoff spot, but enough to shake his confidence as April rushed into May, and the atmosphere at the practise facility and arena became more and more intense.

But he didn’t want to think about that now. He had a date with Laurent—nothing fancy, a restaurant and maybe a walk, just a little get-to-know-you since they hadn’t the time just yet. Damen knew this was not a boyfriend situation, it would not be a boyfriend situation, but he wanted this to be something a little more than a financial transaction every week.

Stood in front of his mirror, Damen stared at himself. He was wearing jeans—expensive but casual, a dark, long-sleeved shirt that Nik insisted showed off his arms, and his most comfortable shoes that were not crocs, since the last thing he felt like dealing with were all-night chirps. He dragged his fingers through his damp curls, setting them as best he could, then gave up on trying to make himself look any nicer.

Nik was over, still shooting him a disapproving glower, but he didn’t say anything. Damen hadn’t told Jokaste yet, who was currently sat on the sofa resting a bowl of half-gone ice cream on the swell of her belly. She’d been in and out most of the day, but had returned just before Damen’s shower with her latest ultrasound photo, and another disappointing conversation with a Private Detective who couldn’t seem to come up with any word on Kastor.

She looked a little scared and a lot defeated, and there was a small part of him which considered cancelling on Laurent and staying with her. He wasn’t entirely sure which Nik would end up approving of, and really the desire to stay with her was small. He didn’t hate her—not anymore, but his loyalty to her had waned.

“Have fun,” she said in a small voice.

Nik scoffed. “I wonder if you could be more passive aggressive.”

“I actually meant it you…” she started.

“Can we please not?” Damen begged. He walked to the table for his phone and keys, then turned back to Nik who was slipping into his shoes. “Not staying?”

Nik scoffed. “With her? You couldn’t pay me enough. And anyway Jord’s expecting me and I don’t feel like making him wait any longer.”

“You could have gone,” Damen told him.

Nik said nothing, but stayed close at Damen’s heels and spoke only when the door was closed, and they were out of any potential earshot. “Look,” he said, and was not deterred by Damen’s unamused glower, “I can’t pretend like I know why the hell you’re doing this…but I’m done trying to stop you. I just…want you to be careful, okay? I get it that you took care with your…contract or whatever. He can’t out you, blah blah blah. But I don’t…I don’t trust he isn’t after something.”

Damen laughed, clapping Nik on the shoulder as they stepped into the lift. “He is after something. My money.” When Nik’s eyes widened and his cheeks puffed up a little, Damen rolled his eyes. “He’s my fucking sugar baby, Nikandros. He’s in this for the money. I spoil him, he pays me attention, I pay him cash and gifts. Then the contract ends, he moves on with his life, and I move on with mine.”

Nikandros looked like he wanted to say a hundred other things, but wisely kept his mouth shut as the lift doors opened with a soft ping, and they stepped into the lobby. They took the side door to the parking garage, and Damen dragged Nik into a hug before they parted ways.

“Your concern means a lot to me,” Damen said quietly.

“Damianos,” Nik said, grabbing him by the shoulders, “if it were not for me, you’d probably be broke and dead by now. And even then, you seem to be determined to make me work for this. I love you but…”

“Trust me,” Damen said, and let him go. “I know what I’m doing.”

It was obvious Nik didn’t believe him, but he said nothing as Damen turned and made his way toward his car.

*** 

Laurent spent the time waiting for Damen at his computer, trying his damndest to memorise the restaurant menu. He knew this was going to come up. Damen would want to do something ridiculous and posh—which meant low-lit dining rooms and menus with looping cursive that he couldn’t read even in the brightest light. Thank god for the internet, and for being able to wheedle the name out of Damen who seemed to think surprising him would be romantic.

It had only taken a few texts for Damen to give it up, and Laurent had prepared himself as much as he could.

He told Damen he’d meet him in the lobby, and to text when he arrived. His phone chirped out Damen’s name, and Laurent quickly turned off his text reader, then slipped his phone into his pocket, and headed out the door. He said six prayers on his way down, and was grateful for the well-lit lobby, and the fact that Damen stood out in any crowd.

His hulking mass hovered near the door, his shirt very black against the stark white walls, and when Laurent got closer, he realised Damen was in jeans—far more casual than Laurent’s high-necked, long-sleeved shirt and trousers. But he seemed comfortable, and not put off by Laurent’s clothes, especially when he took Laurent’s hand and pressed a kiss to the backs of his knuckles.

Laurent’s entire body went tense against his will, but he forced himself to appear relaxed before Damen noticed. And if the other man did, he didn’t mention it.

“You look amazing,” was what he said instead.

Laurent cleared his throat. “Ah. Thank you.”

When it was clear Laurent had no intention of returning the compliment, Damen merely chuckled and gestured for the door. “After you.”

Laurent cursed under his breath, and was glad he knew the place well enough he knew where to step without tripping on the kerb. Damen was parked directly out front, his car a bright, pearly white which was a saviour in itself. Damen was also grossly gentlemanly enough that he opened the door for Laurent, and laughed when Laurent rolled his eyes.

The door shut, and Laurent’s vision plunged into darkness. The first sign he’d suffered was night blindness, just before his diagnosis, and it had gotten worse over the years. He could see very little beyond shadows and outlines when Damen got in, and the only light came from the greenish glow of the radio.

“Music preferences?” Damen asked.

None, he wanted to say. But he shrugged. “Anything quiet. I…have a headache.”

Damen hesitated, then turned on something classical—only a little unexpected. Soft strings floated through the speakers in the back seat, not enough to be distracting, and Laurent leant his head back and closed his eyes.

After a second, he startled when he felt warm fingers touch his wrist. “You’re wearing it,” Damen said.

“I thought…that was the point,” Laurent answered.

Damen hesitated, then said, “I got it because I thought you might enjoy it. I…I have a similar one,” the silence told Laurent Damen was probably trying to show it off, so Laurent guessed where Damen’s wrist might be, and cast his gaze there. “I always liked it. You don’t…I won’t be offended if it’s something you don’t like.”

After a beat, Laurent said, “It goes well with everything.” It was the most he could give then, and Damen seemed satisfied by that, because he dove into chatter then about his week, his games, the losses they’d suffered, and how it would affect the team’s morale later in the week.

Laurent was half listening, but he’d been well practised at appearing like he was hearing every word for years.

Luckily, the drive to the restaurant wasn’t long. Unluckily, the car park, even by the valet, was dimly lit. His only saving grace was the wet pavement, which reflected the yellow streetlamps like pinpricks of glitter near his feet. It saved him from tripping over the kerb, and he shuffled a few feet, then waited until Damen’s lumbering form slid up against his side.

The last thing Laurent wanted then was to take his arm, but it was the safest. Damen let out an irritatingly happy hum of pleasure, then opened the door and they went inside. The place was crowded, completely booked, but the noise was low, the music a gentle wave over the speakers in the background.

Laurent strained his eyes to take everything in, which was next to impossible. The dim lights and the dark red floors made it near impossible to distinguish anything in the space. The only beacons were the bright white table cloths, and the small candles glowing in the centrepieces.

Their table was near the window—the sky beyond was black enough it didn’t matter, but he could feel the coolness as he took his seat, and it helped the slight claustrophobic feeling settling in his gut, recede a little. He took a breath, then touched the menu which was laying in front of him.

As suspected, even with his glasses, he could read none of it. All the same, he hummed in thought as he let it cover his face, and he ran through what he’d read before online. There had been a fish dish. Something with…sea bass.

It would have to be good enough.

When he settled back, he got the distinct impression Damen was staring at him. “Have you decided?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Damen chuckled. “I’ve only been looking for a moment. Maybe we can…”

He was interrupted by the arrival of the server, with wine suggestions and drink offers. Laurent let Damen take the lead, ordering a bottle of some white for the table Laurent wasn’t listening to. He was attempting to control his anxiety, his gaze fixed on the only beacon of light—the small candle at the centre of the table. The rest was dark, aside from star-like pinpricks of light from the sconces across the room.

He hated feeling trapped, hated being in the dark, hated not knowing where there was an escape. Without his cane, and without a map of the place, he couldn’t move on his own.

His stomach twisted, and he missed Damen asking him a question. He only realised it, when he heard his name called twice.

“Sorry,” he said, putting his hands on the menu. “I’m…I was lost in thought.”

“It’s alright,” Damen said, though there was something in his voice that said he was on to Laurent—at least in some capacity. “I was asking about appetisers, but…” After a pause he said, “I’m suddenly not feeling very well. How would you feel if we took this dinner elsewhere?” 

Laurent knew Damen was giving him an out without asking for it. Which meant Damen was either good at reading him, or he was being too obvious. His knee-jerk reaction was to insist they stay, to say he was fine and there was nothing wrong. But he couldn’t concentrate. He had no idea if there was wine on the table now, where it was, and what was coming next.

His stomach twisted again and he said, “I would be perfectly fine with that.”

Damen apologised profusely to the server, had the wine packed to take with them, left what Laurent assumed was an enormous tip, then led the way back to the car. The valet took a while, but soon enough Laurent was back in the plush seats, catching his breath.

“Is it anxiety?” Damen asked.

Laurent startled. “Sorry?”

“You were nearly green in there, and you were near hyperventilating. Is it anxiety, or are you just unwell?”

Laurent nearly said it was the latter. An excuse to escape, maybe go home and avoid this altogether. But he wasn’t here for that. And as much as he wanted to pretend, he didn’t hate Damen’s company. He swallowed thickly and said, “I don’t…I’m not…” He breathed for a minute. “Places like that make me uncomfortable. I feel…trapped.” Saying it without saying it, but Damen merely hummed in acknowledgement.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

Laurent tensed, but gave a terse nod. “Alright.”

“I have a…” Damen laughed. “No, that’s not right. I was…engaged. To a woman, some time ago. She had an affair with my brother, and ran off with him. A few months ago she turned up at my door, pregnant and alone. My brother is…” He blew out a breath which sounded like a hiss, then said, “missing. I have people looking for him, but there’s a chance he’s…not coming back.”

“Dead,” Laurent said dryly, never one to mince words.

Damen barked a laugh. “Or something. I’d invite you home, but Jokaste is there, and I think I’d like to avoid awkward conversations for the moment. Especially since you seem a little shaken.”

Laurent tensed again, not wanting to be seen as weak or incapable. But he couldn’t deny the chance to avoid all forms of being social. “What did you have in mind?”

“My parents. Well, it’s my house now, but no one’s lived in it for a while. I’ve been debating what to do with it. There’s a staff that comes in once a week to dust and clean up. It’s stocked. I think there’s probably frozen pizzas or something. Not exactly gourmet, but…it’ll be quiet.”

And likely bright, Laurent realised. At least bright enough to get around. “Alright,” he said quietly.

There was a pause, then a hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. Maybe it was a promise, or a question, Laurent wasn’t sure. Sex wasn’t a given, but Laurent had already resolved to give Damen whatever he wanted, if he asked for it. It was a small price to pay for the freedom Damen was giving him, and whatever it was, it wouldn’t be anything like…

He gulped, pushing the thought away. The very last thing he wanted to think about right then was his uncle, and everything in his past.

He didn’t push Damen’s hand off. Instead he did his best to soften his expression as he leant back in his seat, closed his eyes, and waited for the ride to end.

*** 

Damen knew there was something going on with Laurent. More than anxiety, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Laurent seemed almost petrified of making eye contact. At the restaurant, he’d kept his eyes trained on his menu, but they were still, proving he wasn’t reading. He hadn’t reacted to the server bringing the wine, or to people passing by.

He seemed locked in himself, and the way he’d clung to Damen’s side as they went outside was unlike the man he’d met in the café.

Something was wrong, but Damen didn’t want to push. He knew enough that if Laurent wanted him to know, he’d share. Otherwise, Damen’s only job was to take care of whatever he was allowed to take care of.

And that meant this place. His childhood home was as it always had been. Seven rooms, bright, marble, airy. It would have seemed cold and impersonal, but there was life to it, even after his parents had passed. He could close his eyes and see himself as a child, tearing through the rooms, chasing his brother, listening to the sounds of his mother laughing.

His bedroom hadn’t changed much, growing with him over the years, then freezing in time after he’d left for the NHL and hadn’t come back until his father’s funeral. Yes, there was pain there, but comfort as well, and it seemed the right thing to do.

He heard the soft crunch of gravel as he pulled the car up to the house. They were surrounded by floodlights, catching the motion of the car, and Laurent blinked, then his shoulders seemed to relax more than they had all night. He didn’t wait for Damen to open his door, instead walking to the front of the car and looking round at the entryway.

“Well,” Damen said, letting his arms flop at his sides, “this is it.” He fished for his keys, unlocked the doors, then flicked the lights on as they entered.

It was always an adjustment. Everything in the place was bright and open. The pearlescent floors shone bright under them, and he always felt like he was walking on opals when he was a child.

Laurent seemed transfixed by it, bright eyes taking it all in as he turned in a half circle. “You grew up here?”

Damen laughed. “I did. I know it’s a bit…much.”

Laurent snorted. “Like an emperor’s palace.” He said it with slight disdain, but a familiarity to it, like he knew what it was like. “My home as a child was…posh. But not like this.”

“Veretian modesty,” Damen teased, poking at the high collar of Laurent’s shirt. He saw a blush creeping across Laurent’s cheeks, and he couldn’t help his grin. “Does this bother you? I’m sure we can find somewhere else to…”

“This is fine. I do believe, however, that I was promised frozen pizzas.”

At that, Damen’s head fell back and he laughed loudly. “Ah. Yes, I do believe I did promise that. I hope you understand the sacrifice I’m making.” When Laurent lifted a brow, he said, “My nutritionist may murder me in my sleep. But for you…” He reached out, taking Laurent’s hand, kissing the inside of his wrist, “I suppose it’s worth it.”

He didn’t call attention to the flush on Laurent’s cheeks, but he definitely didn’t miss it.

*** 

Twenty seven minutes later, the pair of them were sat in the parlour in front of the open terrace doors with slightly charred, slightly card-board-y frozen pizzas, and an open bottle of thousand dollar wine without glasses.

Whilst Damen had been cooking—or rather monitoring the oven and texting Nikandros—Laurent had built a small nest in front of the chaise with pillows and blankets he’d managed to procure from a linen cupboard somewhere. Damen found himself charmed, flushing deep in his cheeks as he settled next to the other man.

The doors let in a slight breeze, the stars a sea above them, twinkling just above the row of trees from their orchard.

“Is it claustrophobia?” Damen asked as he poked at a burnt edge of his pizza.

Laurent, who was nibbling on his crust, shrugged. “I…prefer to be aware of exits. I don’t like feeling trapped.”

A hundred thousand questions bubbled in Damen’s head, but he voiced none of them. Instead he shuffled closer and leant back against the chaise. “I used to sleep outside a lot, when I was a boy. Sometimes in the winter, we’d play Shinny on the pond, and then we’d camp out. My brother hated it. He was...he had more of a temperament like my father.” Damen poked at the edge of his plate and sighed. “He should have been given the job.”

Laurent hummed curiously. “Job?”

“You don’t know?” Damen asked, and his eyebrows shot up when Laurent shook his head. He let out a small laugh. “So many people seem to…want to make it their business—what happened when I was younger.” He breathed. “My father wanted me to take over the family business. Kastor was…a bastard child. An affair just before he met my mother. Kastor was better at things like that—business, corporate stuff, politics—than I ever was. I just wanted to be free, play hockey, do my own thing. When I finally told my father I’d be joining the NHL, he wasn’t thrilled. But instead of naming Kastor his successor, he went with someone else. Outside of the family. It set off Kastor’s downward spiral. He blamed me, hated me for it. Our relationship wasn’t strong before, but it was something. It didn’t survive that.”

Laurent was silent a while, then let out a breath and said, “My brother is the only family I have, and I can’t imagine what it would be like if he hated me. I…” He swallowed thickly. “My parents died when I was a child. My uncle he…” Another tense pause. “He was there to help. My brother was…he had to take over for my father, so he didn’t have much time for me. And he was sick. But I’d do anything for him. I’d to anything to keep him safe. I’m sorry you don’t have that.”

Damen shook his head, putting his plate down, and shifted closer. When Laurent didn’t pull away, he reached out and touched him. First his shoulder. Then the side of his jaw. His fingers were heavy, the brown of his skin a stark contrast to Laurent’s pale which spoke of years of being inside, years of encapsulation, and maybe fear.

“Is this alright?” he asked.

Laurent swallowed, then turned his head toward Damen, eyes closed, and nodded. When Damen didn’t move further, Laurent said in a clipped voice, “It’s fine.”

It was in that moment Damen knew it wasn’t. Laurent didn’t know him, didn’t trust him—and that was fair. Damen hadn’t done much besides give him the money, and a single gift. Their first attempt at a date had gone poorly, and Damen couldn’t regret that more.

He pulled back, and Laurent’s eyes snapped open, irritated and narrowed. “I said…”

“You said you were fine, but you’re not. Your tongue is sharp and clever at hiding how you’re feeling, but I can read your body, Laurent. I don’t want you, if you don’t want me.”

For a moment, Laurent looked like he was on the verge of panic. “I…”

Damen reached out and took his hand. “I want to show you something. It’s a room my mother and I built when I was little and afraid.”

Laurent didn’t protest when Damen pulled him up, nor when they walked to the stairs and ascended. Damen flicked the lights on as they went, illuminating the brightly painted hallway, and at the very end of the corridor, he stopped with his hand on the knob.

He hadn’t been in here in years, but he assumed it was all the same. He’d had a rough year, and his brother was unkind. His mother wasn’t feeling well, and his father had been absent so often. Damen was eleven, and feeling like his world was falling apart, and his mother had offered him this.

Pushing the door, they stepped into the dark room. He felt Laurent’s hand clench round his, and his tense voice ask, “Must it be so dark?”

“Yes,” Damen said. His hand felt round the wall until it came into contact with the switch, and suddenly, above a giant, round hammock covered in cushions, the ceiling lit up with pinpricks of light in every constellation they could fit from the night sky. “It must be this dark.”

Laurent sucked in a breath. “What…”

“It’s the night sky,” Damen said. He carefully shuffled toward the hammock with Laurent still at his arm. He steadied it, then helped Laurent lean back before settling down. It rocked gently as he rolled onto his back, and sighed at the familiar sight of it all. It was a little musty where they lay, and some of the stars flickered more dim than they had been when he was a child, but it was still his place. “I would come here when I was really sad, and make up stories about the stars.” He turned his head to see Laurent squinting behind his glasses.

“Tell me one,” Laurent said after a moment.

Damen laughed softly, and curled to his side as best he could, his face very near Laurent’s shoulder. “Straight above, those five there…that’s Damianos.”

Laurent snorted. “Arrogant.”

“Yes well, I was a child,” Damen said with a sniff, then laughed. “He was a prince. And one day, he was kidnapped by a neighbouring kingdom and an evil ruler took over. He tried to escape, and couldn’t, until he made an unlikely friend—a mistreated prince from the other kingdom. Together, they fought battle after battle, and managed to win Damianos’ lands back. They fell in love in the process.”

Laurent was silent a long time. “Have you always liked men?”

“Yes,” Damen answered. “When I fall for them. I’ve always been less concerned about gender, and more about falling for a person who can make me smile.”

“So why this? With me?”

“I want to do something good for someone,” Damen answered, simple and helpless to his own honesty. “I want…I don’t know, I want to know I’m making a difference. People benefit from my name constantly. Catfishing dating websites, selling merchandise online, writing stories about me. And I thought…I might take some of that power back, be the one to decide for myself who should benefit from it.”

“Noble.”

“Maybe. Selfish. Self-serving, as my friend Nikandros would have me believe,” Damen said quietly.

Laurent shuffled a little, and eventually found Damen’s hand. 

“And you, Laurent? I know you come from money. So why?”

Laurent breathed out a long sigh. “Freedom. I…come from money, but the price is too high for me to pay any longer. And…I want out. I can’t do it anymore. Not the way my…not the way they want me to.”

Damen squeezed his eyes shut. “I can help. Without all this, you know. Without…”

“I need to work for it,” Laurent said. “I don’t expect you to understand but…”

“I do,” Damen said. “I won’t offer again.”

The honesty was plain enough that Laurent breathed out a, “Thank you,” and then fell quiet. After some time of watching the fake, flickering stars, he said, “I think I’d like to kiss you right now.”

Damen felt his breath catch, but he lifted a hand, tender against Laurent’s jaw, and guided their lips together. It was chaste, for what it was, compared to the kisses Damen had shared with others in the past. But none had ever made his heart quicken like this, his fingers tingle, a desperation in his belly for more, and deeper, and everything.

He made himself pull away after a moment, and laid his head on Laurent’s shoulder. 

“For what it’s worth,” Laurent murmured quietly, “I’m glad you chose me.”

Damen laughed. “I know you’ll be difficult on me, Laurent. But I was prepared for that when I met you. I don’t think I’d be happy doing this with someone else.”

“That can’t possibly be true, but it’s a comfort all the same. Thank you, Damianos.”

Damen closed his eyes, his foot pushing out to rock them gently. “You’re welcome, Laurent.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secrets revealed.

Laurent hadn’t realised he’d dozed off until he came to with a start. Everything was dark, and the smells around him were unfamiliar. The bed under his back felt unstable and it was…rocking? It took him several moments to remember where he was, and what had happened. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep, and when he reached out now, the space beside him was empty.

Sitting up, Laurent rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard, but there was nothing. Even the lights in the ceiling had gone, and he wasn’t sure if his vision had finally gone, or if everything had just been shut down.

“Laurent?”

He startled, turning his head toward the voice. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, the shaking in his tone betraying his nonchalant words.

Damen cleared his throat. “I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t want to wake you. Do you want to come over here?”

“I’m…” Laurent swallowed thickly. “I’m fine here.”

There was a rustle, and Laurent strained to see through the darkness. There was something, faded movement against a sky just a fraction lighter than the rest of the room. A terrace door. “It’s nice out. We can do some actual star-gazing.”

Laurent flinched at Damen’s persistent tone, but he’d got a lock on him at least, and edged to the end of the hammock. When his feet hit the ground, he steadied himself, stood up, and tried desperately to remember the layout of the room. But it had been dark, apart from the ceiling, and he’d known the hammock by touch, and that was it.

He took a step, then another, shuffling his feet until…

His hands hit something hard, a low table, and a pair of shoes. He narrowly avoided clipping his head on the corner of the table, but the sharp edge grazed his cheek and he felt an instant sting. Curses flowed freely as large hands eased him up, and he shoved the other man off.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

“Laurent,” Damen said quietly.

“Just…show me to the bathroom where I can clean this up,” he snapped. His anger was masking his panic—the fear of discovery because there was little he could do to play that off. The room, most likely, wasn’t that dark.

After a hesitant beat, Damen said, “Alright,” and eased his arm under Laurent’s hand. Yes…he knew. “There’s a chair just to your right. Door’s straight on ahead.”

Laurent dug his nails into Damen’s arm to shut him up, no room in his mind then to allow for gratitude that Damen was taking it all in stride. When the door swung open, Laurent winced at the violent onslaught of light. His eyes were sensitive on his best days, and being in the dark for so long, he couldn’t keep them open.

He let Damen take him across the corridor, and into a bathroom with soft, yellowish lamps hanging above the mirror. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the vicious whiteness of the rooms beyond. When Damen tried to step in further, Laurent pushed him off.

“Just let me…” He sighed. “I’m fine from here.”

Damen hesitated, his figure hunched in the doorway. “There’s bandages in the cabinet, in a small basket. And something to clean your cheek. If you need it.”

Then he was gone, the door shut, and Laurent was alone.

He counted to twenty, then moved to the cabinet to retrieve what Damen had pointed out. A tiny first aid kit. Laurent’s glasses were god knows where, but he managed to suss out which was the alcohol wipes, and which was the anti-biotic creams, and tidied himself up well enough.

He was no stranger to falling. He’d spent years tripping over things that rested in his fading periphery before he gave in and agreed to a guide cane, and now his vision was down to such a small tunnel, it was by the fact that he knew his flat so well alone he mostly avoided falling on his face.

He should have seen this coming. Metaphorically.

His hands were still shaking when he washed them, but he knew he couldn’t hide forever. He wasn’t sure if this was a deal-breaker. Damen seemed kind enough not to let it bother him—but perhaps that was the worst part. He didn’t want the man to feel sorry for him, to do this out of pity or obligation because Laurent hadn’t been clear about his…limitations.

He knew Damen wasn’t like his uncle. He wouldn’t take advantage.

But the kindness, somehow, felt worse.

With a breath, he reached for the knob, and was unsurprised to find Damen across the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Sorted?” he asked.

Laurent shrugged. “It was just a scrape.” He tried not to flinch when Damen moved toward him, when Damen’s large hands gripped his chin and tilted his head to inspect the wound. When he seemed satisfied it really wasn’t more than a scrape, he dropped his arms and stepped back, though he gave Laurent no room to move past him.

“If I had known, I could have prepared you better,” he said.

Laurent felt his shoulders tense. “I…” he said, then swallowed. “I am aware of that. It was my choice, I’m not blaming you. This is hardly the first time my face has met with the corner of a table.”

“It could have been avoided,” Damen said, his voice more tense than Laurent thought it would be. He was hurt, Laurent realised. Lied to, which perhaps was a mistake. Perhaps Laurent thought Damen’s kindness extended further than it actually did. “How much can you…I mean…clearly you can see some. You’re not…”

“Blind?” Laurent offered. When Damen gave a stiff nod, Laurent shrugged. “I can see you nodding. So yes, something. I have…” His voice faltered. “Is there somewhere else we can do this that isn’t the doorway to the bathroom?”

Damen hesitated again. “Do you need…?”

“No,” Laurent said, and to prove it, he pushed past Damen, heading for the stairs. He was careful, his hand gripping the banister, annoyed that he had to shuffled his feet still, and keep his eyes roving back and forth across the floor so he didn’t miss anything. But he found the parlour without fuss, and eased himself down on a sofa. The light was softer there, kinder, though his head was already pounding. “Did you see my glasses anywhere?”

“Ah they’re…” Damen hesitated, then sat in the armchair to Laurent’s left. “In the room still, I think. I’m not sure where they got lost.”

“I’ll likely need you to find them. The room there is too dark for me to see anything.”

Damen hummed, then said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” Laurent snapped, and nearly let that be the only answer he gave Damen. But that was hardly fair, and Laurent still didn’t want to lose this. Not so soon. “There are people who would…take advantage if they knew.”

“Did I seem that type?”

Laurent snorted a little bitterly. “I wouldn’t know. We’ve had exactly two conversations, Damianos. Plenty of people come across as though they have the best intentions. And I have the unfortunate experience to know they do not.”

He expected push-back, but Damen merely sighed.

Ah, Laurent realised. His brother. “You understand, don't you?”

“Not entirely, but…” Damen trailed off. Laurent supposed he made another gesture, but he was too far off, and the light was too dim for him to properly see it. “There’s no treatment.”

It wasn’t entirely a question, but Laurent answered it anyway. “It’s called retinitis pigmentosa, and no. Not really. There are…experimental treatments, which some people have seen slowing in the deterioration of their vision, but nothing I’ve tried has worked for me. I was diagnosed when I was a boy, and I have a small percent of my central vision left. Enough to read print if I need to, and to get along in rooms that are very bright.”

“But the one upstairs…”

“I could see the stars. The fairy lights,” he clarified. “I haven’t been able to see actual stars in years.”

“Oh,” Damen said, the noise sounding like it had been punched out of him. “I didn’t…” then he laughed. “Of course I didn’t know, you hadn’t said anything. Maybe I was foolish for not noticing. Some of the things…make sense.”

Laurent bowed his head. “I would have said. When I knew I could trust you, I would have said.”

Damen hummed, then leant forward and brushed his hand over the back of Laurent’s. “Let me find your glasses, and I can take you home.”

It was over. The truth of it hit Laurent in the gut, and he couldn’t do more than nod, and lean back against the sofa as Damen went to retrieve the last of his things. He expected he would get the email in the morning, that the contract would be terminated. Damen would pay the fee to break it, and it would leave a small savings in Laurent’s account. Not enough to break free of his uncle, but it would be something. Maybe a head-start. It wasn’t a total loss.

He could, perhaps, convince Damen not to black-list him from the site. To keep it open so he could have another chance with someone else. He wondered if he was above begging.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realise Damen had come into the room until Damen cleared his throat. Laurent jumped, hated himself a little for it, but all the same held out his hand and let Damen hand the glasses over. They didn’t help much, but enough he felt more confident as he stood and followed Damen to the door.

Outside, in the chilly night, he let his hand curl round Damen’s arm, and he let himself remember the feeling of Damen holding him, kissing him, large hands making him feel strangely safer than he had in so, so long. His stomach twisted, and he let out a shaking breath as he reached the car, and climbed inside.

The drive back was near silent. Music played softly in the background, and the road beneath them was smooth. It felt like an ending, and he hated it—hated himself a little, for not ever being able to compromise who he was.

He recognised the turns, and as they got closer to his place, he stiffened, sitting up straighter, gripping the door handle in a white-knuckled grasp.

“Do you…use a cane? A dog?” Damen asked. His voice sounded too gruff, too loud in the long silence.

Laurent sighed. “I have a cane. I use it for my classes, when I do my shopping. I can navigate without it if I have to, but I don’t prefer it.”

“Do you…” Damen stopped as the car rolled to the kerb, but he didn’t switch the engine off, didn’t unlock the doors. “Braille? Do you…is that what you prefer?” Then he huffed and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about it, and I’m not sure if these questions are rude.”

“It’s fine,” Laurent said dryly. What did it matter, anyway? It was over. “Braille sometimes, but I have a reader who helps me with my coursework because it’s difficult to get texts in braille, and audio’s too difficult to shuffle through when I’m trying to go back and forth for information.” After a beat, he said, “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t…I never meant to hurt you.”

“I’m not,” Damen started, then stopped again. “I am hurt, but I understand why. I shouldn’t have expected you to trust me so quickly. But I know now, and I…I’ll do my best to make sure I’m not…taking advantage. You just, you have to tell me if I’ve got something wrong. Just be open. I won’t get angry.”

Laurent sat in a stunned silence, his gaze pointed defiantly down toward his feet, his hands clenched into fists. “You’re not…this isn’t…over?”

“Over?” Damen echoed.

“I lied. About something fairly important. I assumed you would…want to break the contract.”

Damen sucked in a breath. “Is that what you want?”

Laurent found himself shaking his head quickly, abandoning his pride for the hope that maybe he still had a chance to get out of this, to keep what he’d worked so hard for. “No. But I realise what I did and…”

His words died on his lips when Damen’s warm hand reached up, touching the crook of his neck. “Laurent. I like you. I promised you whatever you wanted, you just have to set the boundaries. Tonight was a lot, but I enjoyed spending time with you. I’d like to do it again. Very soon.”

“Oh,” was all Laurent managed.

“Can I…is it alright to text?” Damen asked with faint hesitation.

Laurent nodded, still feeling numb from shock. “Yes. I…I have an app, text to voice app. And I can read them if I have to.”

“Then I’ll text you.” Damen’s hand drifted down Laurent’s arm, picking his hand up by the wrist, bringing it to soft lips that Laurent knew the taste of, the feel of. Damen brushed kisses along his knuckles, the inside of his wrist, against his palm. “Can I see you soon?”

Laurent, mouth dry, throat tight, nodded. “Yes,” he managed. “Whenever.”

“Then I’ll be in touch. Have a good night, Laurent.”

The doors unlocked with a faint pop, and Laurent found himself pushing his way out of the car, onto the familiar kerb, and up the steps to the building door. It was only when he was halfway up, he realised Damen hadn’t walked him, hadn’t assumed he couldn’t do it. 

Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was a fluke.

But it didn’t stop the flicker of hope resting in his belly. Freedom was just around the corner, and with someone like Damianos Akilos on his side, he could finally taste it.

*** 

He couldn’t sleep. He’d been lying on his back, staring at the ceiling for hours now, but as exhausted as he was from the long roadie, gruelling practise, and the emotional night he’d spent with Laurent, he couldn’t get his brain to calm down.

Jokaste had been awake when he’d come in, but he’d avoided conversation by jumping in the shower, and by the time he was finished, she’d retired to her own room. He fixed himself a cup of tea, and had attempted to distract himself with Twitter, and scrolling through the news, but eventually his phone dropped from his hand, and he just laid there.

Thinking.

Wondering.

He had been hurt by Laurent, which in hindsight felt ridiculous. He tried to put himself in Laurent’s shoes—losing his vision, trapped by circumstance and needing the money of a stranger from an organisation in exchange for…whatever. Anything, really. Damen knew his demands were probably kinder, and a lot easier than most.

He knew Laurent expected Damen to want more. That much had been clear when Damen had first tried to kiss him. He’d agreed to it, but his body-language had the mark of someone who had been, too often, touched against their will. It set him on edge, and he’d wanted to ask more about it, but he knew better than that.

Mostly he was surprised at himself. For all that he’d noticed about Laurent, he couldn’t believe blindness had escaped him. Now, thinking back, things made sense. His refusal of a car, the way he never drove, his infrequent eye-contact, the way he’d clung to Damen in the restaurant.

But he had written it off as personality quirks, and nothing else had occurred to him.

He’d known it moments before Laurent fell. The way he’d sat up, startled and staring wide-eyed like he was in a dream. The way he’d groped out for Damen in the empty space on the hammock, although Damen was right there, in plain view.

And when Damen spoke, Laurent hadn’t looked at him. His gaze had been fixed on the table…which moments later, he’d stumbled into.

It came crashing down, and Damen regretted his initial reaction. It had been gruff and unkind. He’d led Laurent to believe he wanted out, and that was the very last thing in the world he desired. He liked him…everything about him. His acerbic nature, and his sharp, witty tongue, and the way he smiled. He liked when his blue-eyed lit up when something fascinated him, and though Damen hadn’t experienced it yet, he could feel passion thrumming just under Laurent’s skin.

There was more to him that Damen wanted.

It was reaching dangerous territory. This was a transaction, and Damen wasn’t supposed to get involved. Not like this. But he’d never been one who could keep his feelings at bay. Jokaste, who had given plenty of warning signs about who she was, about what she wanted, had still blindsided him. And for all that she’d torn him apart inside, he still loved her enough he couldn’t turn her away.

It was no surprise his heart was betraying him now.

This was probably what Nikandros was trying to warn him about.

He resolved then and there to never tell his best friend. He would never be able to live down the smug look on his face when he learnt the truth.

With a sigh, Damen rolled over and flicked his phone screen on again. He opened his search, and typed in the words he swore he remembered Laurent saying. Something retina—something with a p. It took him a moment to find it, but when he got it right, article after article popped up.

His eyes were burning, exhausted, fatigued, but he kept going. He was determined to learn everything he could, so when Laurent was with him, he wouldn’t ever feel trapped or disadvantaged again. At least as much as Damen could offer.

*** 

He was hesitant, nervous as he approached the door. It had been a long afternoon, shopping, research, doing everything he could. He wasn’t sure if it would be welcome, if Laurent would take the gifts for what they were, and not throw them back in his face.

Damen was taking a risk. But this was part of the agreement, and none of them were going against Laurent’s contract.

His hand was sweating under the handle of the bags, but he lifted his arm and knocked, shifting from one foot to the other. He knew Laurent was home—he’d sent a text earlier and gotten a familiar, terse reply. 

_I’m studying this evening, why?_

He hadn’t answered. He’d been less than five minutes away.

Holding a breath, he stepped back away from the door after knocking, and waited. After a long moment, he heard a voice call out something, but he couldn’t make out the words. Clearing his throat, he said, “Laurent,” and knocked again.

After what felt like a small eternity, the door swung open. “…Orlant, and you can tell my uncle I’m not…” Laurent’s voice died and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Damen,” he said.

Damen flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry I…was in the neighbourhood. I have some gifts for you.”

Bright red, Laurent hesitated, but stepped back and made a sweeping gesture for Damen to come in. The place was well lit, and there were books spread on the coffee table in the small lounge. There were a few tea cups scattered, and an afghan lying on the cushions that looked recently used.

Damen’s body heated up all over at the thought of Laurent curled up there, snug with tea and his books. He licked his lips and turned. “I hope…this is alright?”

Laurent’s jaw was tense, but he shrugged and marched back over to the sofa, flopping down. “You can sit. Just…don’t move anything if you can help it. You can put your shoes by the door.”

Damen toed out of his trainers, shoving them against the wall next to another neat row of shoes, then took the armchair to Laurent’s right. Although his work was haphazard, Laurent’s place was tidy. It was similar to everything Damen had learnt, spending the entire night reading.

It was what led him, the next morning, to the apple store. And then to another store. Then to another. “So I erm…” Damen cleared his throat.

“You what?” Laurent snapped.

Damen let out a nervous laugh. “I noticed you use an android phone?”

Laurent’s eyebrows shot up. “This…offends you? Do you have stock in Apple or something?”

Damen’s laugh was a little louder this time. “No. Jesus I just…so I was reading last night. After everything you told me, I thought I should…learn some stuff. There were all these blogs, they said iPhones are the best? Erm. For people with visual impairments. I was surprised you didn’t have one…”

“It’s a family account,” Laurent said, a tenseness to his voice that startled Damen. “I don’t…really have a choice.”

“You can tell me to shove it up my arse but…I thought I’d just put you on my plan. So I went to the store today and they gave me…” He dug through the bag, and pulled out the small box, setting it on the table. “They loaded up all the apps that would help. Walking GPS, this app that can help you identify money, and street signs, stuff like that. It’s got this…this braille text? I guess. I didn’t really understand that one but…” He fell quiet as Laurent reached for the box, and opened it.

Laurent tipped the phone into his palm, turning it over in his hands for a minute. Then he said, “Thank you,” and set it aside.

“So you…you want it?”

Laurent shrugged. “I can’t give up my other phone. Like I said, my family…” He didn’t seem to want to continue.

“That’s fine. You can use both,” Damen said, gesturing weakly. “Whatever you want.”

Laurent snorted. “You say that a lot.”

Damen huffed a laugh and shrugged. “I don’t quite know what to do with you, Laurent. But I’m learning.” After a beat, he reached into the bag for the bigger box. “Then I got this. It’s…well, new technology, but I happened to have a friend who knew where I could find one. It’s a braille tablet. I mean, it’s a tablet with a braille display. But you can load books, any ebooks, to it. I thought for…for your text books…”

At that, Laurent’s eyes went wide, his breath hitching in his chest. His fingers twitched against his leg, like he wanted to reach for it, but stopped himself. 

“If I’m over-stepping…”

Laurent shook his head, then cleared his throat. “It’s…complicated. I appreciate it.”

“Will you ever explain?” Damen asked softly as he set the tablet on the table near one of Laurent’s books. “You don’t have to, but it might be easier for me if I knew…”

“Maybe,” Laurent interrupted. “Don’t expect much. It’s not really a piece of me I like exposing.”

Damen leant back in the chair and sighed. “I understand. I wish I could help. You know I will, if you want me to.”

“This is enough,” Laurent said quietly. After some hesitation, he shifted over and said, “You can sit here if you like. We can…watch a movie?”

Damen flushed with pleasure, scrambling to move, ignoring Laurent’s slightly derisive laugh as he fumbled with the afghan, and fumbled to tuck Laurent into his side. Laurent gave a half-hearted protest, but didn’t push Damen’s arm away as it snuck round his waist, and he melted a little into the touch, as Damen’s fingers pushed the edge of his shirt up, to draw careful circles along his skin.

Eventually Laurent put a film on, but Damen didn’t pay any attention to it. He was consumed with Laurent here, against him, enjoying the contact. It was different from the night before, free of the secret between them. Maybe not all the secrets, but at least some. He turned his head, pushing his nose into Laurent’s hair, breathing in his soft, woodsy scent.

“I have a game coming up, here in the city. Would you…like to come?”

Laurent hummed, letting his fingers toy with Damen’s. “It might be lost on me, you know. I wouldn’t be able to see much.”

“There’s an app,” Damen said, and Laurent chuckled. “It’ll give audio commentary of the game. You can sit with my assistant in the box, or at the glass—whatever you like. I’d…I’d like it if you could come to a game.”

Laurent’s eyes closed as he shuffled a little closer, and let out a sigh. “Alright,” he said very softly. “Your assistant…do they…know?”

“About you?” Damen asked, and he nodded against the top of Laurent’s head. “He knows. He’s family to me. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea. He thinks I’m acting out because of Jokaste.”

“Rebound,” Laurent said.

Damen rolled his eyes. “Something like that. He thinks I’m still in love with her, and I’m just trying to channel my hurt into something else.”

“Are you?”

Damen recoiled, then stopped himself because what did it matter if he was. This was not a relationship. All the same, he suddenly felt it important that Laurent know that no, he was not in love with Jokaste. “It’s been a long time since I loved her,” he said. “I care for her—her wellbeing. For the baby. But I’m not in love with her.”

“Will she be there?”

Damen laughed. “No. Nikandros hates her more than anyone, I think. He’s very protective.”

“Ah. So he’ll think I’m a filthy gold-digger.”

Damen sighed. “He’ll keep his opinions to himself, whatever they are.”

“So long as he doesn’t walk me into walls,” Laurent replied after a moment of silence.

Damen winced, and shifted so he could look at Laurent’s face. It was passive, soft at the jaw, more open than he’d seen the man before. “Is there someone else you would trust to come with you? It doesn’t have to be Nik.”

Laurent shook his head. “Anyone I know has…come from my uncle. And I think I’d trust them less than your friend, however he feels about me.”

Damen desperately wanted to ask, but knew better. In time, he told himself. Laurent might trust him in time. “Alright. I’ll let him know, and maybe you can come to the Saturday game. It’s in the early afternoon, so it won’t take up much of your evening.”

“You say that as if I have a full social life,” Laurent replied with a small laugh. “Any time is fine, Damianos.”

Closing his eyes, he sighed. “I like when you say my name like that. No one calls me Damianos. Not since my parents…” He trailed off and felt Laurent tighten his grip just a fraction.

After a long while of sitting, of just being together, Laurent let out a small sigh. “Thank you for the gifts. They’re appreciated.”

Damen smiled, then reached out, touching Laurent on the chin. “Can I kiss you, Laurent?”

After a moment, Laurent nodded, and tilted his head into Damen’s hand. Damen closed the distance between them, kept the kiss soft, easy, without demand or expectation. When it was over, Laurent was pink in the cheeks, his body pushing into Damen’s, but not asking for more.

“I should go,” Damen muttered, still holding Laurent by the face. “I have an early practise.”

Laurent nodded, and didn’t protest when Damen pushed himself up, but he did turn his face up again when Damen leant in to brush his lips along Laurent’s once more, to leave pecking kisses along the corner of his mouth, along his jaw.

“I’ll text you soon, okay?”

Laurent nodded. “Of course.”

Leaving felt like a physical loss, colder, lonelier. But it also felt like a triumph. Laurent was walls of ice, and iron spikes, but there were places Damen could get in, and Damen was a very patient man. As he drove away, he thought of the feel of Laurent’s lips on his, and the arms holding him tight, and he knew he was making progress. He knew he was falling faster, and deeper, and he was happier now than he had been in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be some time between this update and the next. I have a mad schedule coming up, but I'll be working dilligently to get this fic finished as quick as I can. Again, thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments. They mean everything to me xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for a hockey injury (non-graphic description), and some light angst.
> 
> Not sure when the next update will be. I'll try and get them going but my summer teaching cert class starts tomorrow and it's gruelling so all I can do is my best.

“You want me to…what, exactly?”

Damen rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, uncertain how to word the request without making it sound like he was asking for a babysitter, because that wasn’t it at all. But he also wouldn’t have Laurent on his own, stuck in the crowd of hockey fans without someone to help if he needed it.

He took a breath. “My…” He stopped again, because what was Laurent to him, anyway? Not a boyfriend, but the idea of him being a kept pet was also against what he believed. He knew the term—sugar baby—but he didn’t think using it was going to win him any favours from Nikandros. “Laurent,” he decided. “Laurent is coming to the game tomorrow, and I need you to accompany him.”

Nikandros gave him a dry, unimpressed look. “I have a date.”

Damen sighed. “I thought you were bringing Jord with you to the game.”

“I am,” Nik said, crossing his arms. “And I’m not having some third-wheel tagalong, who happens to be your sugar baby…”

Damen clenched his jaw, letting a breath out through his nose. “Nikandros…I…there’s something you don’t know.”

Nik glanced round the lounge, and when he saw there was no sign of Jokaste, he flopped down and stared pointedly. “So enlighten me.”

“He’s…” Damen started to pace, dragging his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t spoken with Laurent, hadn’t asked who should know and who shouldn’t. Clearly he was keeping it a secret—at least a little. But Damen had also promised Laurent Nik would be with him so…

“He’s what?” Nik snapped.

Damen narrowed his eyes at his friend. “He’s blind.”

Nik blinked at him. “Blind like…can’t see, reads braille, has a guide dog? Did you…did you know this the whole time?”

Damen rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “He can see some. It’s a condition. I can’t remember the name, but he’s losing his vision, and being in crowds is difficult for him. He doesn’t have a dog, he uses a cane. And I…found out recently.”

Nik snorted. “I’d chirp you about how utterly unobservant you are but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “So you want me to what, exactly?”

“Sit with him. He’s got an app for audio commentary for the game. He won’t need you to fill in. But he’s never been, and I don’t think it’s fair to just let him try and get through that sort of crowd on his own.”

Nik seemed to soften a little, though his jaw was tight and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I suppose that’s…fair. I don’t have to like him though, Damen. You can’t ask me to approve of this little…whatever it is you’ve got going with him.”

“I’m not asking that,” Damen said. “I won’t ask you to approve, or to understand. Just respect my choice, and help if he needs it.”

Nik was silent, but it was clear from the expression on his face, he was going to give in. “I want a raise,” he said finally.

Damen laughed. “Of course you do. I’ll text you his address, and you can pick him up at six.”

*** 

Laurent was all nerves. He’d got the text from Damen letting him know that someone called Nikandros and Jord would be picking him up just before the game. They had seats in the VIP box—Laurent choosing that in the end after learning that although he’d have a better view from the glass, the crowds would be less, and there was less chance of him getting lost or stumbling.

Laurent had spent the time away from Damen getting to know his latest technology. Damen hadn’t been wrong about the iPhone, and Laurent was afraid to use it much. His uncle had provided his phone, deliberately choosing one which he could use, in spite of it being the most difficult to navigate for the visually impaired. It was yet another measure of control his uncle had over him. It told him, ‘You will only be accommodated as far as I will allow.’

It burned in his gut, searing. Laurent daydreamed of hurting him, of pinning him down and inflicting every second of pain—emotional and physical—back on him.

Instead he channelled that desire into his quest for freedom, and he was getting closer by the minute. In the bag with the braille tablet had been another envelope full of cash. The bills had been carefully folded by denomination, and Laurent tried not to think about how much effort Damen had put into it.

Mostly because Damen hadn’t asked for anything in return. Laurent attempted to offer himself to Damen, but Damen—infuriatingly—had been able to read the hesitation in Laurent’s body, and hadn’t pushed him. He was asking for next to nothing—a little bit of Laurent’s time, and that was it. And in return, Laurent was getting so much.

He didn’t understand Damen. He couldn’t allow himself to believe a person would be this kind for no reason at all. There had to be a catch, there had to be a hidden agenda, and Laurent was determined to find that out.

Whatever feelings were brewing in his gut—a slow burn, simmering hot and threatening to explode—he kept them tamped down. He would not allow himself to develop anything toward Damen. Nothing more than what they were to each other—Laurent’s way out.

Still, there was a part of him that would not ignore the excitement of the night. Laurent had spent hours watching YouTube videos of Damen on the ice. He wouldn’t be able to see it as well in person, and he wanted to know. He wanted to know how Damen moved on skates, how he threw his body into others. He couldn’t help but envision Damen shoving him against the boards, feeling ice slick under his feet, letting Damen have total control over his stability as they slid across the frozen rink.

It was a lot, and eventually Laurent had to stop watching.

He had the images in his head, though, and he knew as he listened to the commentary of the game, it would be…a lot. He just had to remined practised in keeping it all in.

When his phone buzzed, he jumped, thinking for a second it was Nikandros early. Then he realised it was his other phone, and the name glowing on the screen sent bile into his throat. He cleared it, and answered. “Hello, Uncle.”

“Laurent. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Laurent breathed for a second. “I’m sorry, Uncle. Things have been incredibly busy. You know I have exams coming up and…”

“Why is Orlant telling me you’ve been seeing him less?”

“I have notes to study, not readings to do,” Laurent said smoothly.

“I certainly hope that’s not the case. I certainly hope you haven’t been giving a social life your attention.” His uncle sounded dangerously calm. “I wouldn’t want to have to cut off your school because you’ve chosen to let things…slide.”

“Of course not,” Laurent said, groping for the armchair, and slumping into it. “I’m merely focusing on what I have coming up. Orlant is still valuable.”

His uncle hummed. “Your brother is doing well. I’m sure you’ve heard of the protests in Arles, but I hope you’re not worrying.”

“I know Auguste can take care of himself,” Laurent said.

“And the pregnancy is going well.”

That stopped Laurent’s breath, and he gasped for it, trying not to give his shock away. “Pregnancy.”

“Surely you’ve at least spoken to your brother,” his uncle said, a malicious grin in his voice. “It seems there’s going to be another heir, Laurent.”

Laurent felt panic welling in his gut. Another heir would mean another body in the way of his uncle taking over for Auguste. Another heir meant… “I did not hear. I’ll have to give my congratulations.”

“I can pass it along. You’re busy, after all,” his uncle said.

“Of course,” Laurent agreed, trying to control his panic. “Thank you, uncle.”

“My pleasure. I’ll speak to you soon, nephew.”

Laurent sat there as the line went dead, the phone limp in his hand, fighting off the tightness in his chest, the burning in his throat. His entire body startled when his phone chimed, and he realised this time it was Nikandros. Terrified of giving anything away, he tucked both phones into his jacket pocket, grabbed his cane, and made his way to the street where Damen’s assistant waited.

*** 

Damen had been clear with Laurent about Nikandros’ position—in both his life, and in what he felt about their arrangement. Laurent was not expecting a warm welcome, and he was unfazed when he didn’t receive one. Jord, Nikandros’ boyfriend—surprisingly a Veretain, though he said he’d been living in Delpha a long time, was more pleasant, making small talk with Laurent in his mother tongue on the drive to the arena, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

They were given access to the employee car park, which was underground, making it near impossible to see. Neither Jord nor Nikandros seemed eager to offer an arm, which was fine with Laurent who unfolded his cane with precision, and followed the sound of their footsteps as they headed toward the lifts.

The inside of the arena was far more lit, and they took back hallways toward the VIP box, which avoided the bulk of the crowd, and made it so Laurent didn’t need a lot of guidance. The VIP box was mostly empty, the seats Damen had secured them near the edge, which showed the wide expanse of the arena. It was bright, well lit, the white ice shining bright and fierce.

Laurent stared, feeling a chill in the air, and a thrumming energy from the crowds that were beginning to take their seats. Laurent took his own, keeping his cane next to his knee, his fingers grasping the arm-rests, and he said nothing until Jord leant over and said, “Can I get you a drink or anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Laurent said, his tone clipped. But he was in no mood to be polite. He was doing this as a favour to Damen—support and…well, whatever it was Damen needed from him. He hadn’t really been clear on that, just stating he wanted Laurent to attend.

Laurent wasn’t even sure he would see Damen after the game.

Time seemed to pass slow and thick like honey, Nikandros nearby but saying nothing, Jord trying to be friendly but failing to hit the mark with either of them. Eventually Laurent put his earbuds in, queued up the NHL app, and waited for the game to start.

It was chaotic, in a way. Loud music pumping, lights going dim for a short light show which Laurent could barely follow. There were loud announcements in Akielon which his brain didn’t entirely catch up with, and he only realised it was about players when Damen’s name was called over the speakers.

“What are they saying?” Laurent eventually asked. “It’s not…there’s nothing on the commentary right now.”

“No there wouldn’t be,” Jord answered, leaning toward him. “The teams are on the ice, warming up now.”

Laurent blinked, squinting, but the most he saw were occasional flashes of laser lights. “Will the entire game be like this?”

Jord laughed. “No. The ice will be lit eventually. They just keep it dim for warm ups. I can…I can see Damen. He’s shooting pucks at the goal right now. In about a minute and a half, he’ll stop and work on his stretches. Then in about ten minutes, they’ll leave the ice.”

Laurent frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Routine. Damen’s very particular about his routine,” Jord said in Veretain. “It’s the same way every game. Hockey players are incredibly superstitious about everything. Personal stuff, game stuff, it’s ridiculous. They don’t mess around with what they believe will get them a win.”

Laurent frowned. “Personal stuff.”

“Yes,” Nikandros said. “Personal stuff. Which means if personal stuff seems to bring them losses…they get rid of it.”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Ah. Well, thanks for the warning. Threat. Whatever.”

Nik grunted and Jord leant toward him, murmuring in rapid Akielon before leaning back. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Laurent let out a small laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he does. But I don’t care whether or not he likes me. I’m not here for him.”

“No, you’re here for the pay,” Nik snapped.

Laurent snorted again. “Right in one. Can’t get anything past you, can I?”

Jord sighed when it was clear there would be no love between the two. Laurent, for just a moment, felt a little bad. Jord was kind, and he was trying, and Laurent didn’t want to get into the habit of alienating all of his potential allies. But the conversation with his uncle had shaken him. He wasn’t ready to deal with the information he’d learnt, so he breathed, and focused on the game which was just about to start.

*** 

Unfortunately, the game was even louder than the warm-up. Laurent attempted, at first, to follow without the commentary from the app, but he couldn’t see much beyond the bright white ice, and small dark specks going across it. He gave in eventually, and put the ear buds in.

The commentators were quite good—he was surprised at how well they described the action, and eventually Laurent fell back in his seat and listened instead of trying to see anything. He even accepted a beer from Jord during the second period, and ignored most of the chirps Nikandros flung his way.

The Gladiators were ahead by the start of the third period. Damen had scored three goals—a hat trick, which Jord explained the stands were all flinging hats onto the ice, and Laurent was even able to make out Damen’s face on the big screen hanging above the ice.

He was thrilled for him, and the other team seemed pissed off, which was enjoyable for about ten minutes.

Until there was a collective gasp from the crowd, and the commentators yelling in his ear because Damen was down. A check, they called it. Damen had been checked, but it was more than that, because from what Laurent could hear, Damen wasn’t getting up.

Both Jord and Nikandros were tense beside him, Nikandros swearing softly as he stood, peering over at the chaos below.

“What’s happening?” Laurent demanded, pulling the earbuds from his ears. “What’s…is he alright? What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll still get paid even if he doesn’t get up,” Nik spat.

Laurent’s temper got the best of him, and he managed to grab the bigger man by the sleeve, shoving him against the wall. “Don’t,” he sneered. “Don’t imply that I don’t care. Damen was kind to me and whatever arrangement this is…I…” He swallowed, his cheeks burning. “I want to know he’s alright.”

Nik hesitated, then his large hand removed Laurent’s from his shirt, but he was calmer when he said, “They stretchered him off. We might be able to see him if they don’t take him to the hospital.”

The hospital.

The words rung in Laurent’s ears like an alarm. He knew hockey was a contact sport, that players had been injured—that Damen had been injured in the past—but he hadn’t expected…

“When will we know?” he asked.

Nik sighed. “In a little while. I’ll get a text from someone soon.”

*** 

Soon was apparently forty-five minutes later, and it was not an update, just that Damen was at Delpha General, and that Nikandros was free to meet him there.

Initially, Nikandros attempted to send Laurent home, but Laurent held firm. “If you don’t take me, I’ll take an uber and see him myself. Might as well save us time.”

It was Jord who murmured to Nik, convincing him it was the easiest route, and although the drive to the hospital was tense, when the nurse who greeted them said that Damen had not suffered a concussion, that it was his leg, the tension was relieved somewhat.

“How bad is it?” Nik demanded, hovering close to Jord.

Laurent gripped the top of his cane until his knuckles ached as the nurse answered. “He’ll need surgery. There’s a femur break, it wasn’t compound, but it was a complete break. And his knee was dislocated, but the doctor can give you more information on that. You can see him when he’s back in the patient room.”

The moment she was gone, Nik collapsed on a chair, his face falling into his hands. “Fuck. Shit.”

Jord turned to Laurent, who was uncertain what this all meant. “Leg injuries are difficult to recover from. Not impossible, but the worse they are, the larger the chance he won’t get back on the ice.”

Laurent blinked rapidly. “Won’t get back on the ice,” he repeated. “Like…ever?”

“Players have retired from less,” Jord said.

Laurent swallowed thickly. “That’s…that’ll…” He breathed. “He’ll be crushed. He loves playing.”

“You know this?” Nik challenged, his tone sharp.

Laurent turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Yes. It was clear from the way he spoke about his job. Our relationship might be new, and unconventional, but stop implying I don’t care.”

Nik muttered something under his breath, then clipped Laurent’s shoulder as he stormed out. Laurent’s mouth set in a tight line, but he softened when he heard Jord give a tiny sigh. “They’re family. All the family they’ve got left, really. So forgive him for being…”

“It’s fine,” Laurent said. “I understand. I have very little myself.”

They waited another hour, and Nik hadn’t returned, but the nurse said Damen was asking about Laurent, so he was taken to the room which wasn’t far from the lobby. The room was fairly dim, but lit enough that Laurent could find the bed with ease. Damen was laid out, a machine clipped to the side which looked like it was holding his leg, suspended slightly. It was wrapped, in a brace, and padding, three times larger than it normally was, and there was an IV in his left hand.

He attempted to sit up when Laurent approached the bed, but Laurent scoffed and pushed him back against the pillows with his hand in the centre of his chest. “Don’t, you idiot,” he murmured.

Damen’s fingers gripped Laurent’s wrist, not too tight, but a little desperate. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Laurent let out a tense laugh. “Do I seem that cruel? Your friend Nikandros believes I’m only worried for the money.”

Damen sighed, his hand reaching up, fingers tracing along Laurent’s jaw. “You’re not cruel, Laurent. You’re afraid.” Then he laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m on a lot of medication, my tongue is…”

“As honest as it ever was,” Laurent finished for him. “One of the most honest men I’ve ever known. I won’t hold it against you.” Laurent rested his cane against the wall, then got as close as he could, brushing his fingers through Damen’s hair. “I certainly hope any future games you invite me to don’t end this way.” Then he stopped, fear gripping him. “Nikandros said there are superstitions around hockey. Maybe me being there…”

“No,” Damen said, breathy and soft. “No, it wasn’t you. I was checked by a rookie, from the farm team who seemed to have it out for me. It happens. They go after the big guys. We fall harder, make it easier for them to win.”

“They didn’t,” Laurent murmured, letting his forehead drop down onto Damen’s soft curls. “Gladiators won.”

“Knew my boys could do it.” Damen closed his eyes. “I’m not sure I’ll walk away from this one, though. The break was bad, but my knee…”

“Don’t,” Laurent murmured. “I haven’t known you long, but I can tell you’ve defied the odds before. Just maybe…don’t start digging the grave for your career just yet.”

Damen let out a choked laugh, and tugged until he could get his arms round Laurent’s waist, pressing a kiss to the centre of Laurent’s belly. Laurent could feel the warmth through his shirt, and wanted nothing more than to climb into the bed next to Damen. He knew what it felt like, after all, Damen soft and warm beside him, holding him, grounding him into the present. His eyes squeezed shut, and he let his hand trace lines down the side of Damen’s face.

“Would you…would you stay with me? For a little while, after the surgery?”

“At your place?” Laurent asked, his voice small.

Damen hummed. “Or…yours. Or my parent’s. Anywhere you’ll be comfortable. I just…you can say no, it’s not a requirement. But being with you feels nice.”

“That’s probably the drugs talking, Damen,” Laurent reminded him.

Damen pulled back, his large hand reaching up, cupping Laurent’s cheek. Laurent couldn’t help but turn into it, breathing in the smell of him. Like ice and anaesthetic. “It isn’t. Since I met you, I want to be around you all the time. And I know that’s not part of the deal. It’s not…part of the deal to like you, but I do. You can say no. I won’t be too crushed.”

Laurent let out a choked laugh. “How can I say no to this? You’re…pathetic, in this bed, injured, like a wounded puppy.”

Damen huffed, and tried to pull away, but Laurent held him fast. “I was wrong, you are cruel.”

“So I’ve been told,” Laurent murmured, and before Damen could respond, he brought Damen’s hand up and kissed the inside of his wrist, much the same way Damen had done to him. “I’ll stay with you. We can…figure it out, after your surgery. But I’ll stay.”

Damen hummed, and there was a click somewhere, and then Damen’s breathing went softer, sweeter. He must be on a pump, Laurent realised. He reached down and touched the sides of Damen’s eyes, feeling the lashes flutter as they shut.

“You should sleep,” Laurent said. “I’ll come back in the morning, before they take you back.”

“And when I wake up?” Damen asked, his words slurred a bit more than before.

Laurent smiled. “If you want me.”

Damen squeezed his hand before his own fell limp at his side, and his words were even slower now. “I want you. Always...want you.”

“Then I’ll be here,” Laurent said.

When he was sure Damen was finally asleep, he grabbed his cane, let himself out, and took a car home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update, but it's at least fluffy and sweet. I just wanted to give something before I head into my busy weekend. And we're getting places with communication. Yay communication. Hope you all have a lovely weekend yourselves! And Happy Pride Month!

“You want to do this, Damen, fine. I’m not going to stop you. Whatever you have with him is…your business.” Nik dragged a hand down his face, then sank into the chair with a sigh. “But I’m not moving that bitch…”

“Please don’t,” Damen said.

Nik’s jaw tightened. “She’s not staying with me. If you want to integrate Laurent into your life—which by the way is already a fucking mess—leave me out of it. I’ll do my job, and I’ll never stop loving you. But I won’t sit by and watch this fall apart.”

Damen struggled to push himself up more. He was groggy from the pain medication, but the surgery had gone well enough, and he couldn’t describe the feeling he had when his eyes opened and he saw Laurent sat by his bedside. And it wasn’t like Nikandros was wrong—things were a mess, but not in the way his friend thought. Damen was in over his head with feelings for Laurent, and that was only going to end in more heart-ache.

After Jokaste, Damen swore he wouldn’t let himself be vulnerable like that again. Then Laurent had come along, and Damen was ready to burn everything to the ground, just to have a few moments with him.

“Nothing is falling apart. But my recovery is going to take a long time, and it seems somewhat unfair to ask her to deal with that, and Laurent there while she’s getting ready to have this baby.”

“Maybe you should focus more energy on finding your deadbeat brother,” Nik snapped.

Damen’s eyes went soft, hooded. “Dead may be the operative word.”

Nik swallowed then shrugged. “Put her up in a hotel, then. She’s not staying with me.”

Damen knew there would be no convincing Nik, and frankly it had been a long-shot asking in the first place. He turned puppy eyes on his best friend and said, “Will you at least make the reservation for her.”

Nik growled, but Damen knew when his friend was giving in, and he didn’t push further. He waited for Nik to finish up on his phone, then he leant back against his pillows. “When do I get out of here?”

“Two days,” Nik said. “You think you’ll survive it?”

Just then, a face appeared in the doorway, soft and hesitant. Then a hand, curled round the black grip of a white cane, and Damen couldn’t help his smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I’ll be able to survive it.”

*** 

Laurent was beside himself agreeing to stay with Damen, but he found himself unable to say no. At first he told himself it was because Damen had asked, and he owed him. But he wasn’t a stupid man, and he knew full well what the truth was—he wanted to. He wanted to be there with Damen.

The idea made him nervous, of course. Being in a new place he didn’t know well. Being alone with Damen. And if his uncle learnt where he was, there was no telling what he might do. An ocean might separate them, but Laurent knew his uncle’s influence stretched far and wide.

A small part of him knew it was getting close to the time he’d need to come clean. Laurent wasn’t sure if Damen already knew who he was. Laurent’s identity wasn’t exactly a secret. Coming from a royal family, no matter how modernised they were, or how much it was more a title for show than any actual power—he was still a celebrity in his own right. However small—growing smaller by the announcement of Auguste’s impending child—he still had a path to the crown.

Damen, however, hadn’t mentioned it once. Laurent knew from research that Damen’s parents had been influential in politics, so it would be a surprise if Damen didn’t know anything. Perhaps he was being polite. But once Damen was more lucid, he decided they could at least have a chat.

He was in the car now, Nikandros at the wheel, Jord waiting at the kerb for Damen’s wheelchair to arrive. Laurent had settled in the back seat of the SUV, arranging pillows for Damen to rest his leg on, and soon enough they’d be back at Damen’s.

Jokaste—the pregnant ex—wouldn’t be there, which was a measure of relief. Laurent wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with all that. Not when he was still sorting out his feelings for Damen. And not when he hadn’t even begun to deal with the information he’d learnt from his Uncle, and the coded threats the man had made in their last conversation.

He didn’t want to worry about it now. 

For now, he just wanted to use what little time they had together, in the quiet peace of Damen’s home.

It took some manoeuvring to get Damen in the back seat, and more than that to get his leg comfortable, but eventually they were on the road. Nikandros said very little, Jord only making the occasional small talk. Damen’s usually impeccable Veretian was stilted and broken from the narcotics—something that made Jord laugh, and even Laurent crack a small grin.

He felt his breath hitch when Damen reached across the seats to take his hand, and his throat went tight when Damen’s large fingers traced the lines on his palm. “Thank you for staying with me,” Damen said.

Laurent huffed. “You’re so used to getting your way, it seemed almost a crime to turn you down.”

At that, Nikandros snorted, but said nothing as he pulled up to Damen’s building.

It was a chore, getting Damen to his floor without the aid of a wheelchair, but he’d been doing well enough on crutches, and Laurent let Damen rest against him as they rode the lifts up and up and up. Nik and Jord didn’t stay long, just a cursory, “Do you need anything before we go?” and then they were out the door.

Damen was set up on the sofa, and the moment they were alone, he whinged. “Lay with me?”

“You’re like a child,” Laurent complained, but he settled against Damen’s side. The sofa was just under the window, the mid afternoon sun pouring in making it easy for Laurent to see everything. Damen’s place was smaller than he expected—three bedrooms, hardwood floors, a little furniture, but nothing that would prove to be difficult to navigate during the night.

Laurent hadn’t the chance to look all over, but he figured there would be time enough for that later. Right now, when there was no one to witness him being soft, weaker, he allowed himself to curl against Damen’s uninjured side and let Damen drag fingers through his hair.

“I really meant it when I said I’m glad you’re here,” Damen said, his words slurred a little. “I didn’t want to do this alone.”

“You don’t actually live alone. You have Jokaste.”

Damen snorted, pushing his nose against the top of Laurent’s head. “Yes. My ex girlfriend pregnant with my brother’s child. It’s not…ideal.”

“You don’t think she wants you back?” Laurent asked.

“She does,” Damen replied, and Laurent felt an unexpected, white-hot bolt of jealousy rushing through his belly. “But I don’t want her.”

Laurent let his eyes close, his cheek resting against the side of Damen’s chest. His body was solid, but soft, present and warm, his breathing like a ballast—keeping Laurent safe and steady in the moment. “Why not?” he finally found the courage to ask. “She’s pretty, she’s young, she’s going to have a child.”

“She wants things I can’t give her,” Damen said. “She was never really happy with me. She cared about me, but that wasn’t enough for her.”

“Do you hate her for it?” Laurent asked. Relationships like that confused him. He never understood—had never really wanted. Until now. Maybe. He wasn’t quite sure yet. His hand reached over and his fingers curled into the front of Damen’s shirt, making the other man let out a small, happy hum.

“I don’t hate her. I can’t hate someone for being who they are. I don’t like her when she’s pretending to be someone she isn’t, but that won’t last long for her. I think right now, she’s afraid of not having a back-up plan. When she moved on to Kastor, I think she assumed I’d take her back.”

“Well you did…in a way.”

Damen chuckled. “Not for long. She knows this was never meant to last. She’ll never want for anything…”

“Except you. I don’t know her, but she seems the sort to be driven mad when she’s denied anything.”

Damen laughed again, holding Laurent close. “Ah, and now you’ve uncovered the secret to my revenge.”

“Cold,” Laurent murmured, and snuggled in further. “I like it.”

“Thought you might,” Damen murmured. He let his fingers drag down the back of Laurent’s neck, across his shoulders, to the side of his jaw. “Is…this alright?”

“Yes,” Laurent said, then turned his head into the touch. “You ask that a lot.”

“I know something happened that turned you off from being touched. I never want to cross lines, Laurent. Not with you.”

Laurent felt that in his chest, like a warmth, spreading out to his limbs. He took in a shuddering breath, then said, “I want to tell you but…it’s hard. It’s complicated.”

“I’ll never ask you for something you don’t want to give.”

Laurent pushed his face against Damen’s chest. “I don’t know what I want.”

Damen sighed quietly, holding on a little tighter. “So wait until you do know. I’m not going anywhere, you realise.”

Laurent hadn’t. He had wondered, but had been afraid to assume, and hearing it now was like a punch to the gut. Startling, breath-stealing. He swallowed thickly. “Do you know who I am?”

Damen shifted, looking down. “Laurent DeVere?”

“Yes but…do you know who I am?”

“Second in line to the Veretian throne?” Damen asked, his smile quirking up the left side of his mouth. Laurent, this close, could see it fairly clearly, wanted to touch it, though his fingers remained firmly curled into his palm. “Brother of Auguste. Yes, Laurent, I know who you are.”

“And yet you never wondered why a prince wanted a sugar daddy?”

Damen laughed. “Of course I’ve wondered, but I knew if someone like you needed this—or wanted this—the answer was probably more complicated.”

“Maybe it just turns me on,” Laurent challenged.

Damen raised both brows. “Maybe, but it doesn’t. I know you well enough for that. I’ve seen what turns you on, and I know it…hurts you.”

Laurent curled into himself a little, not ready for that conversation yet. Or perhaps ever. “My uncle,” he said, then breathed through the word. “My uncle is…not a good man. He has aspirations far above his station, and there are things he’d use to get them. For now, my brother is safe, but I’m worried.”

Damen’s brow furrowed into a deep frown. “What…”

“Auguste doesn’t know I’m losing my sight,” he said, and Damen startled a little under his hands. “My brother was born with a heart condition. He had surgery when he was an infant, but it wasn’t caught very early, and it left his heart weak. He’s strong—stronger than I am, but it’s always been known that too much stress could…make things worse.”

“Laurent,” Damen breathed, brushing his curled fingers across Laurent’s cheek.

“I’d rather get through this now, and when I’m…when my sight is gone and there’s no way for my brother to worry himself over treatment or how I’m doing or coping—then I’ll tell him. I can’t…I can’t be the one to cause him to…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

Damen’s fingers opened, large palm cupping Laurent’s cheek. “You love your brother.”

“He’s the only real family I have,” Laurent admitted. He bowed his head, pushing his forehead against Damen’s shoulder. “If I lost him…”

“I can’t say I understand, because my brother and I were…never close. He was always angry at me, blamed me for every wrong thing in his life. And now he’s missing, and probably dead and…it hurts, but not the way it might have if he and I had love for each other.” Damen sighed, and settled back against the pillows. “But there are those I’d die for. Nikandros, for one, and I know if there was a chance I could spare him pain, I’d do it.”

Laurent nodded against Damen’s shoulder, not lifting his head.

“But,” Damen continued, making Laurent go tense all over, “Your brother also feels the same for you, I’m sure. I’m not saying you should tell him, but I am saying to prepare for hurt when he finds out you’ve been keeping this from him all this time. You can’t hide it forever.”

Laurent couldn’t help a slightly bitter laugh. “Oh, I know. I couldn’t hide it from you beyond our first date.” He stopped and flushed at the word date, but Damen didn’t correct him on it.

“Well,” Damen said slowly, once again brushing through Laurent’s hair, “I am observant. Or rather…” He tilted Laurent’s head up, brushing his thumb just under Laurent’s bottom lip, making him go hot all over. “I like observing _you_.”

“You’re terrible,” Laurent groaned, and Damen tilted his head back and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick things- 
> 
> 1- I can either post longer chapters with longer waits between the update, or short chapters, but shorter waits. Feel free to let me know your preferences.
> 
> 2 I got a rather rude comment about the rating on this fic, and I thought I'd just clarify here something-- The rating is for later chapters. It'll follow canon in the sense that Laurent and Damen will most certainly become physically intimate at some point, but will take time. Laurent is a sex-abuse victim so he's not ready to just jump in the sack with Damen, and Damen respects that. It's going to be a slow build, and they need to establish trust and safety between them. But I don't see the point in keeping it rated lower if I'm only going to swap it back to mature later. So I'm keeping the rating as is, and if that's a deal-breaker for some people, it won't offend me if you stop reading. x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and preferences! First of all, this fandom is so overwhelmingly uplifting, and it means a lot. It's incredibly motivating to keep writing! Secondly, I think it was longer chapters/longer wait that won out in the end. I'm not the sort who wants to go months between chapter updates if I'm really feeling the fic, so I'm writing at least a little bit every day.
> 
> I think I'll just update as often as I can, I'll try and squeeze out as much content per chapter as possible, but try not to make the wait longer than a week. I'll also do my best not to leave any cliffhangers because I'm not a huge fan of those.
> 
> But again, thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this update!

Laurent woke up to the sound of groaning—but not the sort he’d expect from sleeping in his sugar daddy’s house. It was pain, and Damen was clearly trying to keep it down, but Laurent was immediately on his feet. He found his cane, the flat dark enough he needed it, and the terrain still unfamiliar. But he remembered the path from his guest room to Damen’s, and poked his head in.

“Can I help?” he asked.

There was a shuffling, a hissing intake of breath, then Damen said, “Shit. I woke you.”

“You’re in pain. What can I do?” Laurent repeated.

“I just…I need water, my meds.” He sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “I fell asleep and missed my dose and it just…”

“I’ll get the water,” Laurent said, then turned and went for the kitchen. He’d been there only two days so far, but the first thing he’d learnt besides the toilet and the path from the lounge to his bedroom, was the kitchen. He found the glasses in the cabinet next to the fridge, filled one at the tap, then made his way back with his cane careful in front of him to warn him of any stray objects.

The path from Damen’s bedroom door to his bed was clear, and Laurent touched his shin to the edge of the mattress, then crept round until Damen’s large hand curled round Laurent’s.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

Laurent waited, poised, tense as he listened to Damen pop the pain meds into his mouth, then swallow them down. When it was sorted, he took a breath and stepped back. “I should…let you rest.”

“I,” Damen said, the word strangled in his throat. “Sorry but…could you lay here as you let me rest. I’m…it’s just…it hurts and having you nearby is…comforting.”

Laurent wanted to refuse—he knew he was allowed, but he knew what Damen was asking wasn’t anything untoward. He would be safe at Damen’s side, under the sheets. With a small sigh, he folded his cane, made his way to the other side of the bed—against Damen’s uninjured leg, and climbed in. He rested his cane on the bedside table, and let the other man’s massive arms draw him close.

“Thank you,” Damen breathed, his mouth pressing against the crown of Laurent’s hair. “You really don’t have to say if you don’t want to but…this does help.”

“So it’s stay here or go back to my room and wallow in guilt as you’re suffering?” Laurent said, a hint of tease in his voice. When he felt Damen stiffen, he sighed and turned more fully onto his side. “I’m joking, Damianos. Laying here with you is not a great chore.”

Damen hummed, squeezing Laurent a little tighter. The position was slightly awkward since Damen couldn’t turn, but they made it work, and Laurent could hear the thump thump of Damen’s heart where his ear was pressed. Damen’s fingers wandered, up the back of Laurent’s neck, carding through his messy bed-head, then down his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he eventually murmured.

Laurent hummed his assent, saying nothing for a while. Sleep was creeping up on him, slow and honey-thick, not quite ready to drag him under, but his body was relaxed. His eyes fluttered closed, the mottled, pinpricks of light he could make out now going dark, and it was more soothing than terrifying now with Damen’s large arms around him.

“Laurent?”

“Mm?”

“Why doesn’t it go tap tap tap?”

Laurent blinked his eyes open, pushing up on his elbow a little, his brows dipping into a frown. “What? Why doesn’t what go tap tap?”

Damen’s words were a little thick, his medication clearly kicking in. “Your cane. You know…in the old movies the men with their glasses and their canes. And they go tap tap on the pavement. Yours…doesn’t.”

Laurent snorted, flopping back down. “That’s such a stupid question, Damen.”

“Well, I’m a bit stupid,” Damen said. “I mean…I’m not. I’m not stupid. I’m very smart.”

“Mmhm,” Laurent said.

Damen huffed and nudged him. “But I’ve never…I mean this is a first for me. Films and books are all I’ve got to go on.”

Laurent scrubbed a hand down his face, then fully turned toward Damen, letting his arm and leg octopus round Damen where he wasn’t broken. “I don’t know why the canes go tap tap in films, Damen. Perhaps they used to, you know? Or some people use them for…a bit like echolocation? That’s not how I was taught.”

“You took lessons?” Damen asked, sounding more sleepy now.

Laurent snorted. “Yes. It was new to me as well, you know. When this all started—when I realised I needed it.”

“…oh.”

Laurent’s fingers reached out, finding Damen’s wrist, curling round it and lifting it up. “You move it like this…” He guided Damen’s wrist in a gentle side-to-side motion. “You let your wrist do the work, easy, side to side. It isn’t difficult, really. Just…takes practise.”

“No tap tap,” Damen said.

Laurent couldn’t help a small laugh. “No. No tap tap.”

“What…” Damen’s voice trailed off into a yawn, and he tucked Laurent even closer, like a stuffed animal. “What else is rubbish? That are in the movies?”

Laurent rolled his eyes, but he pushed up on his elbow and laid his hand on Damen’s cheek. “This,” he said, and began dragging his hand all over Damen’s face. 

After a moment, Damen reached up and stilled Laurent’s hand. “Really?”

Laurent sighed as he dropped his head back down, resting more on Damen’s chest than before. He didn’t want to admit how comfortable it felt, how safe, but it was impossible to ignore. “I…yes. Sort of. It’s…intimate. You wouldn’t do that with a stranger, with someone you weren’t intimately involved in. It doesn’t replace seeing, you know. It isn’t the same. You don’t…I don’t need to touch you to know you’re smiling if I can’t see it. I can hear it. Same as any person if you’re talking over the phone. And the idea is so invasive, that blind people would…” He breathed. “I’m ranting.”

Damen laughed. “A little, but I love the sound of your voice.”

Laurent felt his entire body heat with a blush. “A lot of stereotypes make it harder for blind people to want to do those things. Because it feels like we’re expected to do those things, instead of enjoying them when we feel…comfortable touching.”

“So if a blind person asks to touch my face…” Damen said.

Laurent snorted a laugh. “He’s fucking with you.”

Damen hummed, then pushed his fingers into Laurent’s hair. “I like touching your face. You have nice skin.”

“I…thank you?” Laurent said, then shook his head. “You need sleep, Damen.”

“Feel better already. You’re a good drug, Laurent. Best…best drug.”

“I think that’s the morphine, Damianos,” Laurent chided, but he couldn’t ignore the pleasure of the compliment as Damen kept him tucked in close and sweet against his chest.

*** 

Damen woke with sunlight on his face, and a warmth at his side which was…unexpected. He shifted minutely, ignoring the pain shooting up his leg, and glanced down to see Laurent curled against the second pillow. His face was resting on his side, relaxed with sleep, eyelashes fanned out against his cheek. His fist was curled up near his mouth, fingers twitching every so often, and Damen found himself holding his breath, determined not to wake him.

Leaning further back into his pillows, Damen took a few breaths, wondering how he got here. He had a vague memory of waking up in pain, of Laurent kneeling over him. When he glanced at his nightstand, he saw the half-empty glass of water, the pill bottle closed, but tipped on its side. A warmth flooded through Damen’s body at the idea Laurent had come in to care for him, in spite of being in a strange place with unfamiliar terrain.

It had been a long time since anyone had cared for him. Even as a child, his parents were distant, Kastor much older, and already resentful. His friendship with Nikandros was the only time Damen truly felt like he had a home, had the attention and love he craved. He knew, logically, it was why he clung to the past—like Jokaste, who had hurt him, scorned him, and yet he still cared for her.

And maybe it was why he was overlooking the reasons Laurent was in this, why he didn’t want to look beyond his fantasy. Laurent had come into the bedroom to help Damen, because he felt obligated, not because he particularly cared for Damen.

The thought was…depressing. Weighing on him, as much as he tried to push it away.

He let out a small sigh, running fingers back through his hair, and when he looked down again, Laurent was waking. His eyes blinked slowly, squinting against the bright light of the sun, and he shifted until he was looking up into Damen’s face.

Damen wondered briefly how much Laurent could see just now…in the light like this, without his glasses. They stared at each other, and then Laurent reached out with hesitant fingers, brushing them along Damen’s collarbone. “You are…very attractive.”

Damen felt a flush, from face to his belly, and he blinked up at the ceiling, fighting back a grin which was twitching at the corners of his mouth. “You think so?”

“From what I can see,” Laurent said, and though his voice sounded chirping, there was a faint blush mottling his cheeks high along his cheekbones. His fingers trailed up, along the warm skin of Damen’s jaw.

Damen felt helplessly charmed, fighting the urge to drag Laurent into his arms, to kiss him and hold him until the morning passed. Instead he shifted a little, trying not to disturb his leg too much, and he brushed his fingers through Laurent’s sleep-mussed locks. A vision from the night before—foggy from the medicine and pain, hit him. Laurent snuggling close, talking to him in low tones, staying with him, sleepy and sweet.

“You’re beautiful,” Damen said.

Laurent closed his eyes, then chuckled softly. “I hear that a lot.” Then after a beat, “But I don’t usually believe it.”

“Do you believe it now?” Damen asked.

Pushing up onto his elbow, Laurent brought his face in close, nose almost touching Damen’s cheek. “Would it make you happy if I did?”

“Yes,” Damen breathed.

Laurent’s eyes opened. Damen could see flecks of amber and green in them, like a gold-mottled sea, and his breath caught in his throat. “Then I do.”

“Because it would make me happy?” Damen asked boldly.

Laurent huffed another, very small laugh. “Because it’s the truth. Would you like a morning kiss?”

Damen swallowed thickly, then nodded, and his eyes shut of their own accord as Laurent’s mouth parted just a little, and the distance between them faded to nothing. It was chaste, soft lips to soft lips, warm breath over Damen’s cheeks. He couldn’t resist bringing a hand up, brushing along Laurent’s face, through his hair, resting at the back of his neck. He tried to make the pressure soothing, unthreatening, and Laurent sighed into the kiss, pressing down harder for another moment before he pulled away.

“Is this alright?” Damen asked as his hand dragged down Laurent’s spine, resting at the small of his back.

After some consideration, Laurent nodded. “It’s alright.”

“Because you want it, or because I do?”

“Can it be both?” Laurent asked, then pushed himself up fully to stand. “Do you need assistance? For the…the toilet or anything?”

Damen was startled by the abrupt subject change, but he rolled with it. “I think I’ll be alright. I need to…stretch a little, eat something, take a pain pill.”

“So why don’t I sort some breakfast,” Laurent said.

It sounded almost blissfully domestic—like this was…a start to something, instead of a contract between the two of them. Damen didn’t call attention to it. He waited for Laurent to extract himself from the bed, and shuffle out of the room before he reached for his crutches and began his day.

*** 

It took much longer for Damen to ready himself, and he didn’t bother with anything beyond a quick morning piss, and a new t-shirt. The immobiliser was uncomfortable, but it allowed him to put weight on his leg—as much as he could stand, which wasn’t much just yet, but he had an appointment with his physical therapist coming up later in the week, and he knew it would be gruelling work to get him back on his feet—and his skates.

With a sigh, Damen made the slow trek to the kitchen where he could smell coffee brewing, and he turned the corner to find Laurent at the counter, pouring a dry cereal into a bowl.

“I have other things, you know,” he pointed out.

Laurent snorted, but didn’t turn. “Seems having most of my night interrupted, I’m not feeling inclined to cook anything. I certainly hope you didn’t expect me to…”

“I don’t,” Damen said, his voice swift as he crossed the kitchen to Laurent. He shifted his weight onto his uninjured leg, then rested his crutches against the counter, and wrapped one arm round Laurent’s waist. His hand splayed flat along Laurent’s lower belly, and he held him. “Is this alright?”

Laurent hummed, and leant into the touch, just a fraction, but enough that Damen could feel it. “It…it is. You don’t have to ask for something like this. I enjoy it.”

His words were clipped, a little cold, but heavy with truth. Damen allowed his face to fall into the crook of Laurent’s neck, and he breathed him in. “I feel better when I can check in with you. I don’t want to cross any lines.”

Laurent hummed, and briefly closed his fingers round Damen’s wrist before going back to the cereal.

They stood that way for a long time, for what felt like could be forever. Only the moment was ripped away from them when the front door slammed, and a moment later, a figure walked into the kitchen. Damen caught the profile in his periphery—blonde hair, a swollen belly.

He felt Laurent stiffen under his arm as he turned his head and sighed. “I thought I put you up in a hotel.”

“I’m pregnant, and alone, and I don’t want to be in a hotel,” Jokaste bit. “I live here, I should have…access to my own living space. Even if you’ve put your boyfriend up in it.”

Damen closed his eyes, breathing heavy through his nose, terrified that she was going to send Laurent running. Laurent had agreed to stay for Damen’s surgery recovery, but that was done now. It had been several days, and Damen had Nikandros to drive him places when he needed it, and plenty of food and cleaning services at his disposal. There was no reason for Laurent to keep here.

He cursed inwardly, but he couldn’t bring himself to force her out. “We had an agreement,” he reminded her.

She snorted, rubbing her belly as her eyes narrowed on Laurent first, then on Damen. “Yes well, I think with my track record you should have assumed I’d break it, Damianos.”

Laurent sighed, then said, “Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m pregnant,” she snapped, as though that might explain everything.

Laurent pushed away from Damen, rolling his eyes in the process of reaching up for another mug, and he said, “Yes well, given your track record, I don’t really see you as one who follows rules.”

There was a pause, then she laughed. “Suppose not, but I’ll still pass. I’m going to sit down before I actually go into labour.”

When they were alone again, Laurent turned and pushed the mug of coffee at Damen. “Here. And eat something so you can take your pill.”

Damen grumbled, but he drank several mouthfuls of the bitter coffee, then helped himself to Laurent’s cereal bowl when he didn’t protest. 

“How long until the baby comes?” Laurent asked after a moment. “And do you want water or juice?”

Damen bit back the smile of how familiar, and wonderful this all was. “Juice. And she’s due in a few weeks, I think. She won’t be staying after the baby’s born. She already has a plan for that.”

“As you continue the search for your brother?” Laurent asked. He reached for a cup without looking at the cabinet, then moved to the fridge. His hand searched, then he pulled out a bottle, pulled the cap off to sniff it, and when he was satisfied, poured Damen the drink for his pill.

“I don’t think either of us have much hope anymore. He’s either done a runner and doesn’t want to be found, or he’s dead. Either one of those is enough she shouldn’t wait around for him to show up an suddenly be father of the year.”

Laurent snorted. “I think she’s counting on you for that.”

Damen nearly choked, but managed to get his pill down, then set the glass on the counter. “What makes you think that?”

“If she’s as clever as I suspect,” Laurent said, leaning his hip against the cabinet near the sink, “she’s already sussed out all your weak spots. Your biggest being family. She’s counting on you to not want to let your brother’s child get too far.”

“If that’s the case, she assumes too much,” Damen said, his voice dark, and a little afraid that maybe Laurent was right.

After a beat, Laurent sighed and pushed away from the counter. “You should go lay down and rest. That’ll be kicking in soon, and there’s no way I can get your large hockey ass back to your bed on my own—or with the help of a pregnant woman.”

Damen wanted to argue, but he knew Laurent was right. The more he rested, the faster he’d heal, and then he’d be able to focus on what the fuck he was going to do with the future of himself and the others who were currently under his roof.

*** 

Laurent startled, his fingers stilling on the tablet when he heard footsteps. Damen’s flat was, unfortunately, quite dark during the evening hours. Even with the lamps on, it barely offered a vaguely yellow glow in the centre of his vision. But he was familiar with the place enough he felt safe sitting on the sofa with his textbook displayed out in braille.

Both Damen and Jokaste had turned in hours ago, and based on the way the person was walking, Laurent knew it was the latter.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

She sighed, and the cushion next to him sank as she lowered herself down. “Chronic insomnia. I complained to my doctor about it and he fed me some rubbish about my body preparing me for when the baby comes.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“I think he didn’t take into consideration the wonder that are nannies,” she said flippantly.

Laurent snorted. “A privileged solution most people don’t have. He probably didn’t want to assume.”

“So says the Prince of Vere,” Jokaste said, a little sharply.

Laurent went cold all over. “So you recognised me?”

“You look more like your brother than you think. Or maybe than you know? I’m not sure how bad your vision really is.”

Laurent carefully switched the tablet off, then reached for the coffee table, touching the edge before putting it down. “I suppose that’s fair. My family line is more celebrity than political power, and I’m sure it’s easy to keep up with that nonsense.”

“Helps that I went to Uni with your brother’s fiancée,” she said, and Laurent froze.

“I’m…sorry?”

“Do you not know about her?” Jokaste asked, and she sounded almost gleeful. “Sophie Nilsson? It’s all a big to-do, hush-hush, of course. You know about the baby.”

Laurent swallowed thickly, not wanting to give anything away just yet. 

Jokaste didn’t seem to care what he knew, and she carried on. “Big scandal, of course. King of Vere having a child out of wedlock. Even if he is not much more than a celebrity,” she quoted back. “The smart thing to have done was to get married straight away and claim the child was born early. But Sophie fancies herself an independent woman—says she doesn’t want to let a pregnancy influence her decision on who she should marry.”

Laurent couldn’t help a snort. “You don’t agree?”

“Why would I? Imagine the criticism she’s going to face. An unwed mother.”

Turning toward her, Laurent squinted through the dim of his vision, getting the best outline of her as he could. In the day, he’d seen her—blonde, like him. Patran features, a large, sharp nose and full mouth. “Aren’t you in the same situation? Seems a little hypocritical to think she’s foolish when you’re doing the same thing.”

Jokaste scoffed. “I didn’t get knocked up by a _King_ , now did I? And I might not be in this mess right now if the father of this child hadn’t buggered off to sew his oats, or die. Whatever the case may be.”

“You sound heartbroken,” Laurent said dryly.

“Why bother with emotion,” Jokaste said. “It’s a waste of time, really. Kastor was an immature child, fuelled only by his desire to one-up his brother—something that was never going to happen. He either made a deal with the wrong sort in order to usurp Damen from his metaphorical throne and was killed, or he’s found someone more interesting and possibly richer to warm his bed.”

“Pity for you. Why keep the child?”

“Because when I need it, Damen will protect me, if only to protect his nephew.”

“I told him as much,” Laurent said.

Jokaste huffed, pushing past Laurent slightly, and he heard her snatch his tablet off the table. “How does it work?”

“Push the power button,” he said mildly.

He heard the shufft of the tablet coming on, of the braille buttons poking up through the holes. He heard her fingers drag across them. “I don’t know how to read it.”

“You wouldn’t. It takes study, like any sort of language.”

After a beat, Jokaste sighed and set the tablet down again. “Damen has no illusions about who I am and why I’m here. It’s the only reason I stayed. I didn’t enjoy hurting him, and if I had wanted to love someone, I would have chosen him. I’m only here because I know that for whatever else I can offer him, he wouldn’t take me back. Even if I tried. Once his mind is made up, there’s no going back.”

That settled in Laurent’s bones, like relief, and he decided to tuck it away for later examination with all the other things he was currently repressing.

“Does your brother know about your relationship with Damen?” she asked.

He blinked rapidly. “I…haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

“So that’s a no.” She hummed, then said, “You seem the sort who hides a lot from your brother. Might not be such a good idea.”

“Why’s that?” Laurent demanded, feeling somewhat panicked.

She laughed, the sound almost threatening, but he thought maybe it was his own paranoia. Maybe. “Because he’s going to find out sooner or later. You’re still a Prince of Vere, Laurent—crowned or not. Better to find it out from you than the paparazzi, right?” She sighed, then he felt the cushion shift as she hoisted herself up. “I’m off for bed again. Thank you for the talk.”

He sat in stunned silence as he left, feeling adrift in a sea of indecision.

*** 

Damen woke refreshed, beside Laurent who was awake already, knees propped up, reading on his tablet. Shifting minutely, Damen watched for several moments, as Laurent’s thin, lithe fingers brushed over the shifting bumps. He wondered what it would be like to read like that, to understand letters from the shapes, how it could become so…natural, so fluid.

He always felt clumsy off the ice, his body too big, too lumbering if he didn’t have blades strapped to his feet, a stick in his hands. Laurent was the opposite. Slender and soft, poise to every motion, every movement and word. Damen let out a breath, and his gaze travelled up to Laurent’s face.

Then he noticed it. Laurent was paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes, and when Damen looked back down again, he saw the slight tremble in Laurent’s hands of utter and complete fatigue.

“Did you sleep at all?” Damen asked, his voice rough from morning.

Laurent startled slightly, but reached over, setting the tablet on the nightstand, and pushing his glasses onto his face. They widened his eyes, brightened the colour in them as they fixed on Damen. “Not really. I attempted but no more than an hour, maybe.”

Damen sighed, reaching out, brushing the backs of his knuckles against Laurent’s jaw. When Laurent leant into the touch, Damen was emboldened, unfolding his hand and cupping it against Laurent’s warm skin. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Laurent said, hesitated, then, “yes. Well…not…” He let out a puff of air and dragged a hand over his mouth, then around his chin. It flopped beside him against the duvet, his fingers curling into a loose fist. “I think I…” He stopped again, then shifted all the way onto his side. He reached out, toying with a curl on Damen’s forehead. “Will you give me a gift?”

Startled, Damen caught Laurent’s wrist and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the inside, then to his palm which was soft and pliant. “Anything. I will give you literally anything, Laurent. The country, the world, someone’s head on a platter.”

“I need none of those things,” Laurent said, a small smile toying at the corners of his mouth. “What I need is…a visit home.”

Damen pushed himself up then, hands pressed into the mattress, biting back a groan of pain at the movement. “Alright?”

“But there’s…I need…” Laurent had never been at such a loss for words, and it seemed to almost physically pain him. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Damen almost blurted that he was, that there was no need to pretend because he was here already, and then he remembered. He swallowed, the nodded. “Alright. Is there…a reason?”

“Last night, Jokaste…”

Damen immediately stiffened, sat up straighter, almost angry. “What did she say to you?” he asked sharply.

Laurent shook his head. “She merely reminded me that I am…that I’m _not_ just an average person. My uncle...I’ve told you he has aspirations higher than his calibre. What I’ve not told you is…he’s controlling. He’s kept the press busy with scandals here and there in Vere, so they never get bored and…come looking for the Prince who went away to school.” Laurent’s voice was strangely thick—not close to crying but filled with emotion all the same. “But there’s always the chance I’ll be spotted. I realised last night if I’m…seen with you, if someone finds out we’re…that we have…”

“A relationship, as the public will assume,” Damen filled in.

Laurent’s shoulders relaxed. “It will get back to Auguste. And then…more.”

“Your sight,” Damen said.

“Or increasingly lack thereof. I brought my cane to your game and if anyone recognised me…” He trailed off with a laugh. “Apparently my brother and I still look quite alike, so it’s not that hard of a leap to make. And I think…I think what might be worse on Auguste is hearing it from some seedy chat-show than from his own brother. So I want to…I want to go. I want to tell him. And I’d like you to come, as soon as you’re up for travel.”

Damen caught Laurent’s hand again, pressing kisses to the tips of his fingers, his palm, the backs of his knuckles until he relaxed and shifted into Damen’s arms. “I would love to come with you, Laurent. I should get the okay to travel soon.”

Laurent let his face rest down on Damen’s chest, his cheek over the beat of Damen’s heart. “You don’t mind?”

“I more than don’t mind,” Damen said, and pushed his fingers into Laurent’s hair. “I know what we have is…unconventional. I understand why you need it, but it doesn’t mean I care for you out of obligation, or because of payment. I care for you, and I provide the things you need. This affection is genuine. I don’t expect it in return, but I do hope someday you might feel…something,” he finished a little lamely, but he didn’t relinquish his hold.

After a long while, Laurent turned his face into Damen’s chest, and Damen swore he could feel a small kiss pressed there. When Laurent spoke again, there was laughter in his voice. “I think, someday,” he said, quietly, “I could be persuaded.”

It was as close to a love declaration Damen thought Laurent was capable of. At least for now, and he would take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I've gone way over my predicted 5 chapters, haha. I'm not sure how much more is left to come, maybe 4 or 5 more, but I don't want to assume just yet.
> 
> Either way, up next we get to meet Auguste, and the Regent (uhg) and the boys get quite a bit more intimate :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...
> 
> This chapter is late, and maybe a bit crap cos my head is full of Gradschool things that are making my brain leak out of my ears. But hopefully it's not too awful, and hopefully my next update won't be as long. I hope you like it anyway xx
> 
> Chapter Warnings: This is where that rating comes in handy. Nothing TOO explicit, but enough to warrant at least a mature.

Damen wiped sweat from his brow as he turned to stare at Nikandros who was gaping at him. Rolling his eyes, he reached down for his towel, wrapping it round the back of his neck. “Stop it.”

Nik’s eyes burned with his glower. “You can’t seriously be thinking about this.”

“I’m not,” Damen said. “It’s already decided. Laurent’s finished the last of his work, and I won’t be touching ice for another ten weeks at best. And it isn’t as though you have anything better to do.”

“Jokaste just had a baby,” Nik pointed out.

Damen snorted as he grabbed his water bottle from beside the weight bench and took a long drink. “So what? You suddenly care about my brother’s child?”

“No, but think of the havoc she can wreak when we’re away,” he said.

Damen sighed. “She won’t. She’ll be too busy sorting out wherever she plans to live next, and frankly I thought you’d be more excited about being able to get away with Jord.” At that Nik went very still, and Damen’s lips curved into a slight smirk. “You don’t think I wouldn’t get him a ticket as well? Haven’t you been going on for months about wanting to meet his family.”

“No,” Nik snapped, crossing his arms, though there was a faint, dark colouring spread over his cheeks. “The opposite, in fact. I can’t meet his family. They’re going to hate me. And how, exactly, do you plan to introduce the idea of Sugar Daddy to the fucking King of Vere?”

Damen threw his head back and laughed. “We were going with boyfriend. And that part isn’t your concern. You won’t have an audience with the King. Laurent needs to do this, and you don’t have to come, but it would be nice to have your company. And Jord seemed excited about going home for a little while.”

Nik grumbled about Damen going behind his back to get Jord on his side, but it was obvious he was ready to agree. “I don’t like you very much. You know that, right?”

“So you’ve said, most of our lives,” Damen replied. He stood up, wincing at the ache in his leg, and grabbed his cane. “But you love me all the same. Go home and pack. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Nik threw him a middle finger, then swept out of the room without waiting for his friend.

*** 

Laurent felt for the lock on the door, then pushed his key in to turn it. He’d spent relatively little time in his flat, and was half considering leaving it until he reminded himself that he and Damen were not lovers. They were not an actual couple. Though Damen had gotten better, and was moving round on his own again, he wanted to keep Laurent around. And as loathe as Laurent was to admit it, he wanted to be around Damen.

The flat had become home, in a way. Unlike this place—a place that made him feel kept, and unsafe, and beholden to his uncle.

But if he gave the place up now, his uncle would be on to him. And then his uncle would spill everything to Auguste, and it would take Laurent’s leverage.

Once Auguste knew about him, once that was out of the way, his uncle would have nothing left to hold Laurent in place. The money he had, and being able to speak frankly with his brother was his path to freedom, so close he could nearly taste it.

Heading down to the street, Laurent waited at the kerb, his sunglasses perched high on his nose, his fingers gripping his cane so tight his knuckles ached. Damen would be there soon enough—leaving his PT work out with Nikandros to pick him up and prepare for the trip.

Laurent hadn’t been home in so long, Arles felt as foreign as Delpha had once felt. The thought of confessing everything to his brother was simultaneously a relief, and the most terrifying thing he’d ever do. And his uncle would be there which…the thought of facing him again churned his stomach.

His uncle was mostly aware of Laurent’s vision. It had been a while since Laurent had been to a doctor, and he had been avoiding his check-ups mostly to keep his uncle ignorant of the disease’s progress. If he was going back into the viper’s pit, he didn’t want his uncle to think him vulnerable or scared. He felt less of both now, because Damen, in his soft way, had given him strength simply by having faith in him.

It was the first time Laurent was letting himself be cared for, without being made to feel weak.

He couldn’t help the tiny grin spreading across his face when he heard Damen’s car approaching. He reached for the handle of his case and took a step back as he felt the woosh of the car arriving just a few feet away. He heard the slam of a door, then the whisper of Damen’s woodsy cologne on the breeze.

“Got everything you needed?” Damen asked, the warmth of his body seeping into Laurent without even touching him.

Laurent nodded and handed the case over for Damen to throw into the boot. “Did you convince Nik to join us?”

“Well, he wouldn’t have said no anyway, but telling him last minute was one of my better ideas,” Damen said, and was quiet until they were both seated in the car. “It was nice not having to listen to him bitching for the last month.”

Laurent snorted. “About that. He’s found plenty to bitch about over the last few weeks.”

Damen sighed, and Laurent felt his large fingers brushing through his hair. “Yes, well…that’s Nik. Anyway, you look beautiful today.”

Unable to help a blush rising in his cheeks, Laurent turned his face away. “Flattery is unnecessary, you know.”

“So you say. But you know I like paying you compliments.” Damen grabbed Laurent’s hand, pressing his soft lips to his knuckles. “Giving you gifts. Your smile means everything to me.”

“You are absurd,” Laurent said, entirely without heat, and he didn’t draw his hand away as Damen pulled from the kerb and onto the street.

*** 

They arrived at the flat to a screaming baby—a noise Laurent was looking forward to not hearing by the time they got back. Jokaste was narrowing down on her flat hunt, and Damen had agreed to pay the salary of the nanny for when she moved in and went back to work.

But it had been a long month of adjusting to a newborn in the house. The baby, a boy called Vasilis, had been quiet at first, but quickly found his personality. And his lungs. Laurent had struggled through it, studying, and spending as little time with the infant as he could. But Damen was besotted with the infant, even as much as he insisted the baby looked like Kastor. Many nights Laurent would come home from lecture to find Damen on the couch, napping with the baby on his chest.

He would never admit it was endearing—however much it was.

Laurent quickly excused himself from the overwhelming cries, and Damen quickly went to offer help. Busying himself with making sure everything was sorted for the trip, Laurent was startled by his phone ringing. It quickly chirped out a word he wasn’t expecting to hear.

“Uncle.”

Laurent considered ignoring it, but he didn’t want his uncle to get suspicious. He fumbled for his phone, and swiped his finger to answer. “Hello, Uncle.”

“Ah, Laurent. I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me.”

Laurent swallowed against bile rising in his throat. “How could I, Uncle.”

There was a pause, then his uncle laughed. “Well. I was calling to check in, since you’ve been rather quiet these past few weeks.”

“I was busy with exams, and preparing my thesis,” Laurent defended. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all. I was just wondering if you were coming home at all this summer.”

The answer last year had been no, and the one before that, and his uncle always asked. But now Laurent was on edge, wondering if his uncle was spying, if perhaps he suspected. “It depends on if I have time. I have a lot of research to do, of course, so I can’t be certain.”

“Alright. Well you know I expect regular updates, Laurent. Whilst I am doing this out of the goodness of my heart, I do expect you to live up to my expectations.”

Laurent closed his eyes and breathed out. “Of course, Uncle. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He would have to confront him tomorrow, and the thought of that terrified him. But he was willing. For his freedom, for Auguste, he was willing.

It wasn’t long after the call the crying stopped, and Laurent made his way into the living room. He could hear slight sniffles, and Damen’s low humming, and he reached out to ensure the sofa cushion was empty before he sat.

“Everything alright?”

“Just needed a cuddle. If you want to join us,” Damen said.

Laurent scoffed, but didn’t fight when Damen’s free hand dragged him in. He was somehow manoeuvred into a sort of cuddle, tucked into Damen’s side, with the warmth of the baby pressing into his arm. Laurent glanced down, peering through what little vision he had left in his right eye, and he reached out to brush his fingers across the baby’s round cheek.

“He does seem to enjoy your company.”

Damen snorted. “You do realise he’s always calm around you too, Laurent. As abrasive as you are. Perhaps he gets that from me, since it certainly had me charmed.”

Laurent rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest when Damen eased the baby into the crook of his arm. It wasn’t the first time Damen had shoved the baby at him, and as much as Laurent liked to pretend it was annoying, he enjoyed the weight of the small infant in his grasp.

He didn’t like to think what it would be like to have this some day—something of his own, love, marriage, a family. It had always seemed out of his grasp, and he’d always been certain he’d never have a biological child of his own. He certainly hadn’t thought he was capable of caring for someone enough to bring life into the world with them—and although Damen wasn’t a boyfriend, he was still just a sugar daddy—Laurent had stopped denying the affection he felt.

“You should return him to his mother soon. We have an early flight,” Laurent said, brushing through the baby’s fine curls. He didn’t make a move to give the baby over, though, even as he said it. “What colour are his eyes?”

Damen let out a very soft chuckle. “Very dark brown, just like mine. Wide, wonderful, more curious than I was, I think.”

“I hardly think he’s that curious. He’s probably close to as blind as I am this young,” Laurent said, but he smiled all the same, and rocked the baby back and forth just a little. “Do you want one of your own?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said. “It was always the plan, but…” He trailed off, and Laurent could feel Damen’s body heaving with his sigh. “I don’t know that I have much to give him. All of my family is dead, and I have nothing more than some hockey legacy which means nothing.”

“You’re more than that, Damianos,” Laurent said, then passed the baby back before he could become any more sentimental. “I’m going to shower and turn in.”

Damen leant in, brushing his lips against Laurent’s temple. “I will be in shortly.”

Laurent let himself feel the echo of the kiss for a moment, then he pushed off and readied himself—not only for the night of sleep, but for what was to come after.

*** 

Damen woke to warm sunlight on his face, and a vague sense of urgency. Their flight was early, but not so early he’d have to scramble from the warm covers, or pull away from Laurent’s hand curled on the centre of his chest. Closing his eyes and taking a breath, Damen pressed his own hand on top of Laurent’s, and held it there against the thumping of his heart.

The moment Laurent began to stir, Damen pressed Laurent’s knuckles to his lips, kissing softly along each finger, down to the centre of his palm, and to the inside of his wrist.

“Good morning,” Laurent said, sweet and sleepy the way he was only in these quiet moments.

Damen turned toward him, gathering him close, letting himself bask and wishing he could guarantee this would never end. “Did you sleep alright?”

“A little insomnia,” Laurent said, “but I think it was…nerves.”

Damen hummed, letting the backs of his knuckles run along the cut of Laurent’s jaw. Laurent’s eyes, light and unfocused, were fixed near the ceiling, the sunlight making the colour bright—like a kaleidoscope of sky blue and sea green. “Would you like me to try and soothe your nerves?” Damen asked, a little playful, expecting Laurent to turn him down.

Instead of his usual barb, however, Laurent merely turned his face, seeking until their lips pressed. Damen let out a short breath of surprise before kissing back, letting his tongue brush along Laurent’s. Laurent let out a quiet moan, his fingers roaming, twisting in and out of Damen’s curls until they found purchase, tugging just a little.

When Damen’s hands flew to Laurent’s hips, he gasped, pulling back. “Don’t…” he said, and Damen quickly released him. When he was free, Laurent’s own hands dropped to the waistband of Damen’s pyjamas. “Can I? Let me touch you,” he begged.

Damen’s hips thrust forward on instinct, his eyes hooded, vision slightly blurred with arousal as his mouth sought another kiss. “Please,” he begged against Laurent’s lips. “Please touch me.”

Laurent did. His fingers moved with deft cleverness, working the pyjama bottoms down, Damen’s cock bouncing free and achingly hard. Laurent’s eyes had closed, and his mouth was parted as he grasped Damen’s hardness with one hand, the other searching until it found Damen’s wrist. He pushed his hand up above them, pressing it to the pillow. “Like this,” Laurent gasped. “I want to but…you can’t touch me. Is…can you…”

Damen’s other hand flew up to join the first, grasping at his wrists to hold himself still. “Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” Laurent breathed, and then he got to work in earnest. He gripped Damen firm, sure, with exactly the right pressure, giving him a slow stroke. When Damen’s breath caught in his throat, Laurent pushed his thumb to the slit, gathering the precome, and then began a rhythm so perfect, Damen’s eyes rolled back in his head.

In hindsight, maybe it was the anticipation that had him so filled with ecstasy he couldn’t breathe. He’d waited for this for so long, Laurent next to him every night, touching him, kissing him, but never this. Damen had waited for Laurent to be ready, willing to accept it if he never was, but quietly and desperately hoping.

And now he had it. He couldn’t touch Laurent like he wanted, but Laurent was touching him, and that alone sent him flying over the edge.

Damen came with a shudder, and a helpless gasp as he pushed himself into Laurent’s hand. Laurent eased him through it, gentling his stroke until Damen was spent, falling back hard against the pillow, his brow prickled with sweat.

Laurent swiped his hand off on the side of Damen’s pyjamas, which were only round one leg now, hooked at his knee, and he laid his head back against Damen’s shoulder.

“That was…” Damen said, his breathing still hitching every so often.

“Adequate,” Laurent replied.

Damen let out a hoarse, indignant squawk, and flushed hard when he saw the smug grin on Laurent’s face. “That was more than, if my opinion counts at all.” Laurent nuzzled against him and Damen wrapped his arm round Laurent’s shoulder. As he shifted, Damen felt hardness against his thigh, and pushed his fingers into Laurent’s hair. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” Laurent said quietly. “I…” He stopped, his heavy breath punctuating his broken sentence. “When we return from Arles…after you…learn more about me, if you still want to then…”

“I’ll want to,” Damen said in a rush. “I can’t think of a single thing which would turn me off you, Laurent. I’m…besotted.”

Laurent let out a small snort in spite of himself, and pushed his face harder against Damen’s shoulder. “No one says that anymore, Damianos.” He went quiet again. “And you may change your mind, and if you do, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me now?” Damen pressed, turning so he could let his mouth rest against Laurent’s forehead, giving him an absent kiss there. “Laurent, whatever it is…”

“I would like to have this. For now. This morning, and tomorrow night. And then…we’ll see,” he replied. “For now, I just want to feel like I have this, have you. Without complications.”

“You do,” Damen vowed, but he realised then he couldn’t promise anything. It was impossible to imagine not being hopelessly in love with Laurent—no matter who he’d been in the past, what he’d done, what he’d been through. But he also knew how terrible people could be, and making a senseless vow only to break it was something Damen didn’t want to do. So he fell quiet, and just held Laurent until it was time to leave for the plane.

*** 

The flight to Arles was long and restless. The more Laurent’s vision went dark, the more insomnia he began to suffer, and he was exhausted from that and the stress of knowing what was to come. The private jet was comfortable enough—far more comfortable than the flight he’d taken to Delpha, but even with Damen’s fingers laced through his, he couldn’t calm himself completely.

Nikandros and Jord were uncharacteristically silent during the flight, and Laurent had to wonder if perhaps there wasn’t some underlying drama between the two. Akielos and Vere were historically enemies, even with Auguste’s peace policies he’d been enforcing since ascending the throne. But many lands didn’t appreciate the continued monarchy, finding it outdated and against democracy.

It gave something for Laurent to think on, besides his uncle, and knowing he’d be facing the man not long after they arrived.

He’d been able to contact his brother’s assistant to arrange for his arrival, bypassing his uncle, and allowing for the surprise. His brother was in meetings all day, but by the time he arrived, Auguste would have just finished with tea, and would receive them in his parlour.

All Laurent wanted was to see his brother, was to have audience with him before his uncle could whisper poison, could convince him it was too dangerous to tell his secret. Laurent was feeling brave—for the first time in his life unafraid and trusting in his brother’s strength to handle what he had to say.

The rest would happen as it happened. His uncle would react however he did, but Laurent would no longer have to fear what Auguste didn’t know.

“Ten minutes,” Damen murmured in Laurent’s ear, and Laurent jolted awake, having drifted slightly. “Are you alright?”

“Mm,” Laurent said. “Just exhausted. Ready to get this all over with.”

Damen’s hand reached up, brushing over Laurent’s cheek. “It’ll be fine. I trust it will.”

“It’s complicated. My entire family is…complicated,” Laurent said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. 

“Well, I’m not,” Damen said, his voice gentle and soothing, not a hint of condescension. He tucked Laurent closer, brushing his nose against Laurent’s temple. “I’m a simple man, and you have that in me. So when you need respite from…whatever else is going to happen here during this visit, know I won’t be far.”

Laurent squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a breath, then said very softly, “Thank you.” And he truly meant it.

*** 

Gaining audience with the King of Vere was less complicated for the prince, but even so took some hassle. It was difficult enough to keep Auguste’s assistants, and most of the guards, from alerting his uncle seeing as he was Auguste’s advisor and more often than not, communication went through him.

But the members of the Palace in Arles always liked Laurent, and were more than willing to help a little brother surprise his beloved elder one. It was easier when Jord and Nikandros left, a promise to meet them for breakfast the following day.

Laurent was trying to keep his secret still, so as they arrived and were brought into the hall, Laurent’s cane was tucked firmly in his pocket, and he was holding Damen’s arm as inconspicuously as he could manage whilst still relying on him as a guide.

“I haven’t been home since well before I…” Laurent said, then trailed off. “I never learnt it like this,” he finished.

Damen reached over and squeezed. “I’ll get you to where you need to go, then I’ll meet you in our quarters. Are we staying in your bedroom?”

“Yes, and snoop all you want,” Laurent said as they began the trek down a familiar-feeling hallway. “I was a boring teenager.”

“I’m willing to bet if there’s some emo phase evidence to be found, I can find it.”

Laurent rolled his eyes and nudged Damen, but his nerves flared up when he realised they’d come to a stop.

“His majesty will receive his guest shortly,” one of the guards said.

Damen leant in close to Laurent. “When Akielos was still a monarchy, the King was referred to as Exalted.”

Laurent’s eyes shut against his will, imagining for a moment Damen cloaked in purple, a laurel wreath perched on his curls, looking every bit as royal as Laurent ever would. He swallowed, then took a step back. “One of you may show Damianos to my rooms. I’ll be there shortly.”

Damen hesitated, then tipped Laurent’s face up for a kiss before backing away. “If you need anything…”

“This is my childhood home. I’ll be fine,” Laurent said, though his voice belied his nerves. But soon enough, Damen’s footsteps faded down the corridor, and he turned to face the door he knew by heart. The tall, cherry-wood door with intricate carvings he used to trace with his finger as he waited for his father and brother to have time to see him. 

He took a breath, swallowed, and listened. He could hear Auguste’s voice, deep and a little rougher than he was the last time Laurent had been here. He sounded so much like their father now—Kingly, regal, perfect. Laurent’s fingers trembled, itching to take his cane out.

He didn’t know what the guards had told Auguste about who was to see him. He knew Auguste wouldn’t agree to a surprise visitor, so he leant in forward and heard a name. “…cousin Charls in.”

Laurent nearly laughed, but the doors swung open, and he felt the breeze across his face, and the brush of a guard stepping past him. Then he heard his name—almost broken, and completely surprised.

“Laurent?”

“Your majesty,” Laurent said, taking a step forward, unsure of his steps, but moving anyway.

There was a pause, then footsteps, then arms around him, hugging him tight. “You idiot,” Auguste muttered against the side of his head. “Cousin Charls, indeed! How did you…when did you…this was all you, was it not?”

The sound of familiar Veretian flowing from Auguste’s lips was like a soothing balm, and Laurent basked in it with the smallest grin as he let himself just enjoy this moment. “It was me. I wanted to surprise you.”

Auguste pushed Laurent back a space, but kept his shoulders in a tight grip. “Let me look at you. Mon dieu, Laurent! I can’t believe how long it’s been. It’s…” Auguste stopped. “Is there something wrong?”

Laurent swallowed, then took a step out of Auguste’s arms. “We need to talk. Alone.”

“Of course,” Auguste said. He rested his hand on Laurent’s shoulder, and dismissed the remaining guards. When the doors shut with a firm click, he let go. “What is it? Clearly something’s wrong and…”

He didn’t want to wait. Couldn’t. He had to think of Auguste’s heart, choose his words carefully to soften any surprise but he couldn’t put this off, he couldn’t drag his feet. He was too afraid of his uncle interrupting them, of losing his nerve.

“I have…there’s,” he said, hating how much he was stumbling over his words. It wasn’t like him at all. He groped through the air and relaxed only when Auguste’s hand found his. “Several years ago, before I left Arles, I noticed something wrong with my eyes. Trouble seeing at night. I…you were so busy, so I asked uncle to arrange for a vision test, and I was given a diagnosis.”

“Laurent,” Auguste breathed, but Laurent held up his hand for quiet.

“My retinas are dying. My vision began to deteriorate…slowly at first. Just little bits in the corners, and it was difficult to see when it was dark but…I got along just fine. My first year at University, when I moved to Delpha, it got a little worse, and a little worse until…” He reached with his other hand, into the inside pocket of his coat, and pulled out his cane. With three small snaps, he had it extended, the rubber grip familiar and comforting. “The past six months it’s gone down to nothing. I have no light perception in my left eye any longer, and my right is at ten percent.”

There was a long pause, but Auguste hadn’t let go, and he wasn’t breathing heavy, no signs of distress. After a long moment he said, “Why did no one tell me?”

Laurent bowed his head. “You were so busy, and your heart…” He licked his lips. “I didn’t want to put it on you. I wanted to…I had to make sure I was going to get through this okay. I didn’t want you to put yourself, your health, in danger because of this.” He left out the it about his uncle, about how that man had told him it would kill Auguste to worry about his brother, how if Auguste died, it would be all Laurent’s fault. “I’m sorry.”

Another pause, and then Auguste touched the side of his face with a dry, warm palm. “You’re a fool, you know that? Such an idiot. Laurent, my heart is fine!”

Laurent blinked. “But…”

“It might not be strong enough to carry me through a marathon, but it’s strong enough to care about you! I can’t believe…” Auguste stopped himself. His hand moved to Laurent’s shoulder, then to the hand that was holding the cane, though Laurent didn’t let it go. “Someone should have told me.”

“I wanted to,” Laurent said. “I wanted to tell you before some sleazy tabloid took some pap-shots and you saw on television. It’s bad enough I can’t hide it anymore. I’m sorry,” he said again.

Auguste tugged him in, then kissed his cheek. “I’m hurt, but…at least you’re here. Come on, we should sit.”

As Laurent and Auguste moved to the sofa near the fireplace, Laurent felt like a weight had been lifted off him, and for the first time he could actually and truly taste his freedom.

*** 

Growing up the way he had, very little phased Damen, including being in the Palace of Arles whilst his current sugar baby was having a meeting with the King. Although, thinking of it that way was strange, especially considering the sugar baby he was falling madly in love with happened to be the Prince.

But Damen had grown up in political circles. He’d been to palaces, state houses, government buildings, manors, and everything in between. He’d grown up in a place almost as posh and rich as this, so being in Laurent’s bedroom didn’t throw him off.

Nothing apart from how drab it was. Books lined the walls, and his bed was fresh—the duvet recently laundered and the wardrobe full of clothes. But it lacked any familiarity—no photos, no evidence that Laurent had grown up here, spent time here, became the man he was today partly behind these walls. Damen didn’t expect much, but he had expected some evidence Laurent had once belonged.

Something felt…off.

He was just reaching for his phone when he heard a knock at the door, and he half expected Laurent when it swung open. Instead of Laurent, however, a stranger walked in. He was older, his light coloured hair taking on a silvery sheen at the temples, his face pale with brown liver spots showing his age. His eyes were a watery blue, crinkled at the corners, and his mouth was a thin line.

Laurent’s uncle, Damen realised. A cold chill raced up his spine, and his eyes narrowed, though he kept his face relaxed and polite.

“Can I help you?” Damen asked.

“I should be asking the same of you,” the man replied in accented Akielon. “I was informed we have guests, and then was informed my nephew had come. With a friend.” He half-sneered the last word, his eyes flickering up and down Damen’s body, taking in his obvious physique.

Damen held out his hand, introducing himself, and he watched the man’s eyes widen. “You recognise me?”

“Theomedes’ son. The legitimate one.”

Damen felt his insides twist, but he still maintained his poise. “And you are Laurent’s uncle?”

“I am. I hold the title of Regent here, and am the advisor to the King.” He stepped back from Damen. “I knew your father before he died. A…fair man.”

Damen felt his jaw clench. “He was. And just.”

The Regent took a breath, then his shoulders sagged. “I confess I’m a little hurt Laurent didn’t warn me of his arrival.”

“He was hoping to surprise his brother,” Damen said. He crossed his arms, a defensive stance, but not hostile enough to raise alarm. “I’m sure you can understand, considering it’s sensitive matters.”

“Is it?” The Regent asked, his tone oily.

Damen gave a shrug as casual as he could manage. “Well, losing his vision…it’s not an easy conversation.”

He was satisfied when he saw doubt, and maybe a little fear, flicker across the Regent’s face. “He’s…doing that, is he? I was under the impression he felt it best for his brother not to worry over him.”

“He supposed it was better that the King hear it from him directly, than from someone who would want to use the information to bring either of them harm.” Damen raised a challenging eyebrow. “I’m sure you understand. Being family and all, caring for them.”

“Oh I do care for them. I care for Laurent a great deal,” the Regent said. There was a disturbing almost glee in his tone, which turned Damen’s stomach. “We have always been…very close. Has he told you about our relationship, special as it is?”

There was something lying under his tone, in his words, like a puzzle he had to solve, but Damen couldn’t think when the man’s beady eyes were on him. “He’s quiet about his family, and with my career, our time together is limited so we try and keep our conversations pleasant. But I’m sure we’ll talk about it plenty, over the next few days.” Damen took another step toward the bed. “You’re welcome to wait, I don’t think he’ll be too much longer.”

The Regent smiled again, sharp and calculating. “I have other matters to attend to, but I’m sure we’ll see each other at breakfast. Have a good night Damianos.”

Damen bowed his head, and watched out of the corner of his eye as the Regent saw himself out. When Damen was sure the Regent had gone, and wasn’t listening in, he pulled out his phone and sent a text.

**Nik, does Jord have any contacts here in Vere? Someone who could get information about a high-ranking official?**

_What the hell have you gotten yourself into now? It’s only been a few hours since I left!_

**Fuck off, I haven’t done anything, but there’s someone I think…might have hurt Laurent. Or be able to hurt him, and I want to know.**

_Let me ask._

_Jord says yes, but it’ll cost_

**I have plenty of money. You have access to the accounts, give him whatever he needs. But this can’t be traced back to me.**

_You know I’d never. Now who are we looking into?_

**Laurent’s uncle. The Regent.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short update. Things are hectic right now, but I'm desperately trying to keep to my weekly update schedule. Hopefully I can get the next bit out quicker (and longer). This fic has maybe five more chapters to go? I think. But don't quote me on that.

Laurent had envisioned meeting with Auguste again in a thousand different ways. Many of the fantasies included curling up on his sofa, talking about his life, and listening to the low rumble of Auguste’s laughter, and the heavy weight of acceptance and safety his elder brother had always provided for him. None of those fantasies included knowing that a tall, huge, unbelievably good-looking sugar daddy would be waiting for him in his childhood bedroom.

“Tell me about him,” Auguste said.

Laurent bit his lip and attempted to play ignorant. “About…?”

“The man waiting for you in your bedroom,” Auguste said, elbowing Laurent slightly. There was something to be said about Auguste being the same, not treating Laurent any differently, even after learning of his failing sight. Much the same way Laurent had never tried to treat Auguste like he was made of glass, in spite of his heart. The fear had only consumed him once his uncle started whispering in his ear. “I’ve got a text from a few palace guards. They seem…interested.”

Laurent rolled his eyes, flopping his head back against the back of the sofa, and sighed. “He’s…his name is Damen Akielos…”

“The hockey player?” Auguste asked, his voice rising a bit at the end.

Laurent sat up straight. “You know who he is?”

“Anyone not living under a rock, or inside a book,” Auguste said playfully, “knows who he is. Sydney Crosby, Wayne Gretzky, Mario Lemieux, Damianos Akielos. Not to mention our parents used to meet with his before…” Auguste went quiet, and Laurent let out a sigh of understanding. “He was expected to go into politics, and instead became a sport celebrity. It was a big deal.”

Laurent shrugged. “Yes well, we met in a café, it was love at first sight, blah blah blah.”

Auguste snorted. “Really?”

“You haven’t known about my sight long enough to make blind jokes, Auguste,” Laurent warned.

He could practically hear Auguste’s eyeroll, and he could see the younger version of him in his memory, giving him an unimpressed stare. “Yes well, I have known you long enough to know that Laurent de Vere does not fall in love at first sight.”

“It was more complicated than that,” Laurent admitted, feeling bad about the half-truth, but he wasn’t ready to divulge all that yet. Auguste had no idea what their uncle had done, why Laurent was so desperate for an escape—and though Auguste would not break, the stress of being King, and a father to be, a wedding to plan, and now Laurent’s news…he couldn’t drop another bomb on him. “He’s…different than most men here. Kind, strangely kind. I keep waiting for him to show me he has ulterior motives, and then…”

“He doesn’t,” Auguste finished for him, his voice soft. “I understand that.”

“Sophie,” Laurent said.

Auguste let out another long breath. “Sophie. You’d like her. She’s in Patras right now, otherwise I’d introduce you. Needs to get things sorted before the wedding. I’m assuming you heard through Uncle?”

Laurent swallowed against bile in his throat at the mention of his uncle. “Something like that. I didn’t realise there was going to be a wedding.”

There was a tense pause, and Laurent realised how difficult it was now, to read his brother without being able to see him. Much like Laurent, Auguste’s moods were subtle, well cultivated by years of being brought up royalty and in the public eye. He itched to reach out and touch, or ask. “He told me you were busy, and you had sent in a maybe.”

“Perhaps he was answering for me, making assumptions,” Laurent said, though he knew full-well what his uncle was up to, and he suspected Auguste didn’t buy it.

“Well…you’re here now, and you’ll be back, yes? To stand with me?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Laurent said. He raised his hand, and felt himself relax when Auguste took it, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand the same way he’d done when they were children.

“I have missed you so much, Laurent. It’s empty here some days. I told myself it would be easier when you finished school and came home but…I suspect that might never be the case now. If you really do love him as much as your face shows.”

“I don’t love him,” Laurent said, a little too fast, a little too aware of how hard his heart was beating. He swallowed. “We will talk more on it later. But I swear I won’t ever stay gone this long again.”

He was pulled into a hug, and then Auguste was leading him to the door. “I can walk to you to your…” Auguste’s voice cut off, and then came another which made Laurent’s blood run both cold and hot.

“Nephew. I didn’t know you were coming.”

Laurent squared his shoulders, held a little tighter to his brother’s arm. “Uncle. I wanted it to be…a surprise.”

“And that it is, I’m sure,” the Regent said. Laurent heard him take a few shuffling steps forward, and unconsciously, he stepped backward into Auguste. “I…met your…significant other.”

Laurent felt his heart lurch. “He was supposed to be in my rooms.”

“He was. I thought it my duty as patriarch of this family to…make his acquaintance.”

Before Laurent could say anything, he felt Auguste tense next to him, and his voice terse as he said, “I believe I hold that title. Age or no, I am the King. And I think it’s only fair to let Laurent make introductions, Uncle.”

“My apologies,” the Regent drawled, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “He was…perfectly agreeable.”

There was a tension to his voice that Laurent hadn’t heard before. Tension that would only be created if he’d been challenged, and his heart gave another lurch—though this one far more pleasant—when he realised it was Damen who had done it. Damen, who had likely come in protective over Laurent.

He let out a breath. “Auguste was just walking me to my rooms. I’m sure we’ll see you in the morning, Uncle.”

It was a dismissal, and far be it for the Regent to argue with Laurent in front of the King, so he took his leave. When he was gone, the brothers began walking the familiar path, and Laurent let himself relax a little.

“He hasn’t been…giving you trouble, has he?” Laurent asked.

Auguste scoffed. “He’s his usual self. Power-hungry, attempting to sway Parliament at the cost of the people. It never goes well. The country is too liberal for old men like him these days. I’ve been a little distracted, what with Sophie being pregnant and all but…I’m taking care. You know I always do.”

Laurent hummed, nodding absently, though he still worried. But right now he felt safer than he had in a long time. Now that Auguste knew, now that he was okay, and it hadn’t stopped his heart. He realised now how absurd the fear had been, but he had loved his brother so much—too much—to let himself take the risk.

He didn’t want to be grateful for Jokaste, but in this moment, he was. Her pushy nature had led to this, and Laurent, for the first time, felt like he had power over his uncle. It was heady, better than the idea of freedom, and as he reached for his door handle, knowing Damen was beyond, he let himself smile as he turned to embrace his brother.

“In the morning?”

Auguste laughed, and gave his cheek a pat. “Yes, Laurent. In the morning.”

The door opened, and Laurent stepped inside, only to be met with silence.

*** 

When Damen arrived back at Laurent’s rooms, he was surprised to find the other man there, pacing and looking agitated. The door shut tight, and Laurent spun round to face him. “Damianos,” he said, half a demand, half a question.

Damen’s eyebrows shot up. “Laurent,” he said in reply. “What’s the matter?”

“I…you weren’t here,” he accused, his whole body tense. “I told you to wait here for me, and you were gone.”

Damen crossed the room in four quick strides, carefully taking Laurent’s hand between both of his own. He peppered kisses across the taut knuckles. “Forgive me. I had to check in with Nikandros, and I didn’t want to be a nuisance. Besides that, your uncle paid me a visit and I was…nervous he might listen in.”

“He’s,” Laurent began, then hesitated like he was holding back. After a moment, he let himself fold against Damen’s chest, let himself be held. Damen delighted in kissing along his hair, down his temple. “He’s dangerous. What did he say to you?”

Damen felt his back tense, and he led Laurent backward toward the bed. They were both dressed down for sleep already, and the covers had been turned down. “Not a lot. But it was what he hadn’t said that set me on edge. Implications I didn’t particularly like.”

Laurent’s entire body tensed then, and he tried to pull away. Damen let him go, but not far. “What sort of implications?”

“Power games, I think. Control. Possibly more, but I’m not going to pry, if that’s what you’re afraid of. But whatever he’s done, whatever he’s holding over you, Laurent, I won’t let him…”

Damen was cut off by Laurent’s bitter laugh, head shaking against Damen’s shoulder. “You have no real power here, Damianos. Trust me, my uncle’s influence reaches far, even if he’s lost popular support of the people.” Laurent let out a tired sigh, dragging his hand down his face. After a moment, he turned toward Damen and reached for him, cupping his cheek lightly. “You stood up for me.”

Damen nuzzled against Laurent’s palm, placing a soft kiss there, then to the inside of his wrist. “Did you think I wouldn’t? You mean everything to me, you know.”

Laurent’s face twisted through several emotions, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that information in spite of Damen being certain his heart was obvious, lying bare and raw against his sleeve. “That’s,” Laurent said, then shook his head. “Can we sleep? I’m exhausted, and my brother wants to meet you in the morning. I suspect it’ll be a long visit, even if we’re only here a few days.”

Damen carefully tucked them under the covers, curling his body round Laurent’s protectively. The little bit of light coming from under the door wasn’t bright enough to keep him awake, and he felt the long journey settling into his bones, taking him closer to unconsciousness.

He was still on edge from meeting Laurent’s uncle, from knowing there was something wrong and sinister about the man. He planned on learning as much as he could, and exposing him if he had to. Whatever that man had done to Laurent, he would pay for it, and at Damen’s hand. Damen wasn’t sure how this would end—what he and Laurent had, but his feelings were true, and he could no longer ignore them. Even if it crashed and burned, Damen wouldn’t go down without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr now (again). Multi-fandom blog where I'm dropping most of my fic, though I won't be active on it much until things calm down IRL which will be in about 40 years. But you're welcome to follow me or come shout at me about fandom things! [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drama, a lot of fluff and other things. Take heed of the rating for this chapter.
> 
> Warnings for implications of canon compliant abuse and violence- nothing in detail.
> 
> The next chapter has some drama in it so I thought I'd get some sweet fluff out of the way before that all goes down.

“Shower with me.”

Laurent blinked awake, turning toward the sliver of light which he knew indicated the room was full of bright morning sun from his windows. Stretching, he smiled into his pillow when he felt Damen press up along his back, dropping a warm kiss to the side of his neck. “You’re telling me you can’t manage a wash all on your own.”

Damen snorted, nipping at Laurent’s skin. “I’m telling you that I’d like the pleasure of your company. I’ll wash your hair if you like.”

“Bribery,” Laurent said, his voice slow and languid with sleep. “I like it.”

Damen’s grin curved against Laurent’s shoulder as his hands wandered, gripping Laurent by the hips, just holding him in the sleepy morning.

After a few minutes, Damen pushed up and Laurent heard his heavy feet hitting the floor. There were a few pops of joints as he stretched, and a groan. “Come on. I’m sure breakfast will be soon.”

Laurent pulled a face, but allowed Damen to take his hand and drag him into the bathroom. It was much as Laurent remembered, as he dragged his fingers along the sinks, along the tiled walls, pressing to the glass door of the shower. It was one of the few indulgent luxuries he appreciated about growing up in a palace—a place he could soak, and be alone, and pamper himself a little.

Damen sorted the water, and little tendrils of steam began to curl round him. Laurent reached for the door, feeling Damen push past him, then drag him under the spray with a slight laugh. The water temperature was perfect, and Laurent closed his eyes as rivulets ran down the front of his face.

“Smell these and tell me which you like better,” Damen said, his lips right up against Laurent’s ear as he spoke.

Burst of scents erupted under Laurent’s nose—floral, fruity, woodsy. He closed his eyes and smiled. “The first.”

Damen made quick work of lathering the soap into Laurent’s hair, taking his time, massaging him until Laurent was half-collapsed against Damen’s chest. When Damen rinsed him, it was sweet and tender, careful to keep the bubbles from his face.

Laurent didn’t return the favour entirely, but he let his soaped up hands wander round the expanse of Damen’s chest, over his broad shoulders, over every dip and curve he’d touched, but never really explored before this moment.

“What’s this?” he asked quietly. It was rigid skin, puckered, near his abdomen.

Damen’s hand covered Laurent’s. “From a surgery when I was a kid. Kastor and I had been out, playing. Rough-housing,” he clarified, his voice a little tense. “I thought it was an accident. It might have been, I don’t know. He pushed me, and I hit a massive rock and passed out. There was a lot of internal bleeding. Nothing dangerous but…” Laurent felt him shrug.

He wanted to say something, anything, words of comfort or solidarity, but nothing would come. Instead, he reached for Damen’s face, cupping it gently, and kissed him. It turned into something more, deeper and edging into desperate, but Damen pulled away before they could get too far.

“We have breakfast with your brother,” he murmured.

Laurent groaned, because it wasn’t just that. It was breakfast with his Uncle, and if there were any state officials, them too. He always hated this business, being here, being the Prince. In the quiet moments of evenings, when they were children, this place was home. But the older he got, and the more responsibility Auguste had been given, it started to feel like a place to rest, all the comforts of childhood and safety gone.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Laurent finished washing, and followed Damen out of the shower.

*** 

To say breakfast with the family was full of an unspoken tension would be an understatement. Nothing was commented on, but Auguste seemed to be on high alert when it came to Laurent. It was startling how much the brothers looked alike, and shared the same intensity. Damen watched Auguste’s eyes, narrowed and focused, as he observed Laurent’s mannerisms at the table. At first one might assume it was making sure Laurent hadn’t lost any of his royal manners, but it became clear that Auguste was trying to figure out what Laurent might need, what might be different now that he knew.

Damen relaxed a little, after that, answered questions easily, was mildly surprised how much Auguste seemed to know about Hockey. He had expected to be the odd one out. He knew what Veretians tended to think about people like him—brutish and clumsy, uneducated. But Auguste was diplomatic and without overt prejudice, and there was a genuine kindness about him that Damen immediately respected.

The uncle was a different story, but Damen had experienced that already. His comments were underhanded, seemingly spoken only to get under Laurent’s skin, get him flustered to throw him off. When Laurent spilt his coffee after reaching for it, the Regent sat back, a slightly satisfied grin on his face which made Damen want to leap across the table and punch him.

He didn’t. Instead he said, “If you don’t need Laurent’s attention for a little while, I was hoping he might give me a tour.”

Auguste’s face was soft as he nodded. “I’m sure he’d love nothing more.” There was an edge of humour to it, making Damen raise his brows until he said, “Laurent used to be in charge of giving diplomatic tours to travelling officiates when he was younger. Not…his favourite job.”

“Oh,” Damen said, flushing. “I didn’t mean…”

His voice went quiet as Laurent’s hand fell to his knee, squeezing. “It’s fine. I’m happy to, and there’s a lot I need to…reacquaint myself with. Now that things are…different.”

There was a flicker of something on Auguste’s face, and the Regent’s eyes went a little harder, but Damen twisted his fingers through Laurent’s and said, “Then maybe we should get going. So we don’t take away too much time from your brother’s visit.”

“We can catch up later. In the library,” Auguste said, and rose when Laurent did, which caused a flurry in the guards behind him, startling Damen.

He’d had bodyguards growing up, and staff who worked in their house, but it had never been like this—royal, alien. He did not have a hard time imagining Laurent growing up here though, the snarky, smirking prince who more than likely caused more trouble than he behaved, and it sent a shiver of warmth through Damen as Laurent took his hand and pulled him toward the doors.

Neither of them spoke until they were long out of earshot, then Laurent leant into him and said very quietly, “Do we have guards following?”

Not realising that was a possibility, Damen turned his head and looked behind them. “None that I can see. Why?”

But he didn’t get an answer with words. Instead, Laurent’s hand shot out, inspecting the wall for objects, then he shoved Damen against it, and kissed him. Breathless, Damen pushed his forehead against Luarent’s when the other man pulled away, and he grinned. “And that was for…?”

“A thank you,” Laurent said. “Breakfast was more tolerable than I expected. My uncle…” He stopped, biting his lip. “I’m glad I didn’t have to do it alone.”

Damen reached up, cupping Laurent’s cheek, letting his fingers trail down to pinch Laurent’s chin and draw him into another, sweet kiss. “I would do it a thousand times, if it helped.”

“Luckily we won’t be here long enough for that,” Laurent replied, then let their hands slide together as they continued the walk.

“Where are we headed?” Damen asked after some time.

“Library. My favourite room when I was a kid. It was the only place I wasn’t hounded about sitting up straight or smiling the right way, or not having my collar buttoned up.”

The way Laurent wrinkled his nose in disgust made Damen want to kiss him again. Instead he squeezed Laurent’s hand and continued down the corridor until Laurent stopped. 

“There should be a door ahead. If I’m…if I’ve remembered it right. Large, cherry-wood, brass handles.”

“There is,” Damen confirmed, and led the way after Laurent grabbed his bicep. The doors opened with a firm click, and they stepped into a room that was wide, expansive, huge windows allowing filtered light inside. It was nothing like he expected when he thought of Laurent in a library. Part of him imagined something out of a fantasy novel, with spiral staircases and bookshelves climbing several stories high. Instead it was a pear-shaped room, rounded walls, with more books than he’d seen in a while, but far less than anticipated.

There was a smattering of furniture—sofas and armchairs, a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been lit in a while, and throw cushions up against a few of the shelves.

Laurent let him go, his eyes closed as he walked forward with a hand outstretched. He came into contact with a shelf, then his fingers roamed over a few of the spines. He let out a shaking breath, and the moment was tense, but Damen was too afraid to break it with words.

Instead, he followed a few steps behind as Laurent made his way past a shelf, round a corner, and stopped in front of a wall. Hanging there, high above the stacks, was a massive painting of a woman who looked so strikingly like Laurent and Auguste, it took his breath away.

“If the painting is still there,” Laurent said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the soft, quiet space, “then that’s my mother.”

Damen came up behind him, moving slow and careful so Laurent might pull away if he needed to. Instead of going tense, Laurent went soft and pliant, letting himself fall back against Damen’s arms as they wrapped round his waist. “She looks like you.”

Laurent let out a breathy laugh. “So I recall. I was very young when she died. She was…she wasn’t supposed to be able to have Auguste, let alone me. I was her undoing, but my father insisted she didn’t regret it, even if I always believed it was my fault. I used to ask Auguste if he’d like her back, if it meant he didn’t get me.” Laurent sighed, letting his head fall back against Damen’s chest. “He always told me no.”

“Did you believe him?” Damen asked quietly.

Laurent shrugged. “Sometimes, but…there was a piece of me who always waited for another truth. For Auguste to get so upset with me he admitted that she had lived and I had not.” Laurent shifted to the side, pressing his ear against Damen’s thumping heart. “I used to make him angry on purpose, see if I could get it out of him.”

“And did you?”

Laurent laughed softly. “No, Damianos. Auguste was always telling the truth. Apparently.”

Damen smiled, kissing along Laurent’s temple, letting his fingers brush quietly through his hair. “Then I suppose I like him even more,” he whispered.

Laurent hummed, tilting his head up, allowing Damen to press a series of soft pecks across his mouth and jaw. “She was a good person though. I suppose she was able to get all of the goodness in the family. But it left nothing for my uncle, I think.”

Damen tensed, wanting to ask, wanting Laurent to just tell him because he knew there was _something_ he was missing, something that maybe, if he knew, he might make amends for, or at least offer comfort. But he didn’t want to push. He knew Laurent better than that, by now.

“Show me something else. Your favourite thing,” he said instead of anything else running through his head. “What used to make you happy when you were little.”

Laurent turned his head up with a grin. “If you insist,” and then pushed up on his toes to kiss him.

*** 

Whatever Damen was expecting, it was not to be dragged out to the stables. Laurent had his cane with him now, stopping in only for a moment to speak with Auguste before heading out. He didn’t explain as they took the back door out through the kitchens, and down a well-worn path Laurent could navigate easily with his cane.

It curved round a small orchard, and when it opened up again, Damen saw the stables, and the field beyond. “You ride?” he asked, startled.

Laurent paused in his step, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I used to. Not since…” He stopped, and shrugged. “I was on a hunting trip just before I left. Some of Auguste’s closest friends, guards, myself, my uncle.”

When Laurent didn’t speak again, Damen reached for his hand, and they continued a slow pace toward the stables. “Can you ride now?”

Laurent shrugged. “I haven’t tried.”

Damen reached in his pocket for his shades, shoving them onto his face when the sun came out from a smattering of fluffy clouds. He glanced down at his shorts and sandals, glad there didn’t seem to be the intent to ride just yet. He had done his share, when he was a lot younger, but it had been years since he was anywhere near a stable.

Laurent found the door, pushing it open, letting out a waft of musky, horse-scented air. They were all out to pasture, the stalls empty and swinging open, and through a window in the back, Damen could see them grazing.

Laurent’s hand touched the edge of one of the stalls, one that had been mucked recently, and his face fell just a little. “She was here. Auguste…gave her to me as a gift, when I turned fifteen. It was…a nice escape. She was fast, tame, beautiful.” Laurent hugged his middle. “On the hunt things got…out of hand. Auguste was shot—they could never find the person who’d done it. On the search, Sprite suddenly collapsed.”

Damen sucked in his breath, crossing the distance between them. His large hand splayed wide over Laurent’s hip, and Laurent pushed gently into the touch. “Did they ever…”

“No,” Laurent said. “I had my suspicions, but no one wanted to listen to a fifteen year old boy.”

“Your uncle,” Damen said. It wasn’t a huge leap, not after everything Laurent had implied.

“There has never been enough evidence to point the finger at anyone,” Laurent said, a little sharply, though he didn’t pull away. “Since then, I haven’t ridden. And doing it here is…it would be dangerous.”

Not because he was blind, Damen realised, and he felt the urge to call Nik and Jord and urge them to hurry, to find something on this man, a way to protect Laurent and possibly even Auguste. It was ridiculous, in a way. Damen was nothing more than a hockey player. He had no pull, no prestige, no power or influence. But deep in his gut he knew he couldn’t let this go unchecked. Laurent had suffered enough.

“Take me somewhere else,” Damen murmured, turning Laurent in his arms, cupping his cheek.

“Where?”

“Anywhere you like.”

*** 

The baths. Damen, for just a moment, thought it was a joke. But here they were, in a room made of marble and stone. The baths were full, steam wafting from the top like they were filled by hot spring. They carried that slightly sulphur scent to them, a sharp tang in his nose.

But it was masked by a floral scent of soaps around them, and though it was humid, cool air drifted from vents in the ceiling which was the only real evidence the place had been modernised. Damen hung near the door after Laurent had closed it, but stepped in as he watched Laurent pause in the middle of the room, and methodically begin to undress.

“I wasn’t allowed here often,” Laurent said as he kicked his clothes and shoes off to the side, so he wouldn’t trip on them. “Bit like the sauna. My brother was afraid it would be bad for me.”

Damen chuckled as he stepped further into the room, and dragged his shirt over his head. He dropped it on a bench, his shorts following, shoes tucked under. His hand hovered over bottles of pearlescent soaps, and he selected a pink tinged one, smelling the top and finding it heavy with rose oil.

He set it to the edge of the bath, and did his best to control the hitch in his breath when Laurent pressed his hand to the side, then slipped in.

Damen wasted no time in following.

The water was hot enough to sting for a moment, and he watched as Laurent’s cheeks went pink from the heat. His hair curled gently near his ears from the humidity, and the tips of Damen’s fingers tingled with the desire to touch.

He didn’t though. He waited, his back pressed against the warm stone of the bath walls, and he tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, painted bright blue to look like a mid-afternoon sky. “This is luxury.”

“You could commission one for your own house. Once you move out of that little flat,” Laurent said, lifting his foot so only his toes rose out of the water. He swished back and forth, then dropped it down again, landing it against Damen’s thigh.

Damen curled his fingers round the top of Laurent’s foot, his fingerpads digging into the bottom, massaging. “I suppose I could. I’ve been hesitating on the sale of my parents’ house for a while, but I’ve been thinking about it lately.”

“Why wait so long?” Laurent asked, pushing his foot a little further into Damen’s grasp.

“My brother. He went missing and I…I’m not…it felt wrong to just sell it without him being part of the process.”

Laurent snorted. “From all I’ve heard, he’s a terrible man. Why would you give him the consideration?”

“Because he’s family and deserves at least a chance to be a better man,” Damen said, but the response was more automatic than anything. He wasn’t sure he believed that anymore.

Water sloshed as Laurent pulled away, then pushed across the water with his hands out until they touched Damen. They curled over his shoulder, and Laurent seated himself in Damen’s lap. “It sounds to me he hasn’t earnt your trust or regard, Damianos. And I understand our cultures are different, but I don’t think it’s out of line when I say that blood or not, you should have to earn love from someone else.”

Damen realised Laurent was speaking from painful, aching experience, and in truth, it wasn’t a hard sell. Kastor had done very little for him growing up, and even less as they got older. His most recent memories were nothing more than pain, and he hadn’t felt contentment like this in so long. Not since Laurent had come round.

He sighed, curling his arms round Laurent’s waist, pushing his face against the crook of Laurent’s neck. “I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s nice to be acknowledged,” Laurent said dryly, and Damen laughed, pulling his face back to look at the man on his lap.

“You’re more than that. You’re…a treasure,” Damen said, and delighted in the way Laurent flushed more.

“Flatterer. You’re saying that because you own me.”

“I do not. No one owns you, Laurent,” Damen said, an edge to his voice of slight desperation that Laurent never, ever feel beholden. Contract or no. “You are strong, and brave, and your own man. Everything we have together, written or spoken or implied—is because I want to give it to you. My wealth, my body, my heart, it’s yours because you’ve earnt it. Every bit of it.”

Laurent sucked in a harsh, sharp breath, and turned his face toward Damen. It hovered there, just for a beat, and then Laurent was kissing him. It was needy and desperate, conveying all the things Damen knew Laurent could not say aloud. He accepted it, welcomed it, kissed back with wandering hands and the brush of tongue against tongue until they were writhing, sliding together, desperate for as much friction as they could get.

It wasn’t easy. Fucking in the baths was never as fun as the idea appeared to be, but they managed it, and soon Laurent was gasping into Damen’s mouth with his release. Just the idea of it was really what sent Damen over the edge, and he panted, clinging hard, face hot and tingling with pleasure as his cock pulsed.

Laurent’s hand on him slowed, drawing it out for just a moment, then pulled away. He dropped his forehead to Damen’s shoulder and breathed in. “I want to go home.”

“I thought you were home,” Damen said, brushing his hand through Laurent’s hair.

“Not anymore.” Laurent pressed a soft kiss to Damen’s heat-flushed skin, then pulled back. “Presumptuous of me, I know, to assume with you that I’m…”

“It isn’t,” Damen said in a rush, cutting Laurent off before the words could escape him. “It isn’t. I feel the same. I want you…more than what we have…I want…”

“Me too,” Laurent confessed quietly. “Can we talk about it? When we get back?”

“Yes,” Damen breathed out, and cupped Laurent’s cheek once more, kissing him soft and sweet—a promise that whatever Laurent wanted, he could give him. “When we get back, we can talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on tumblr. Feel free to come shout at me at [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)
> 
> Multi fandom (star wars, omg check please, harry potter, captive prince-- and personal stuff)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really quick I just wanted to give out the warmest and longest hugs to everyone leaving comments. You lot have NO IDEA how motivating it is, reading those, and how much I appreciate every single comment and kudos. I'm sorry I've been terrible at replying, but they do not go unread, and they mean everything. Thank you so much! <3

Laurent’s nerves were on fire, but he was determined. He could hear his brother and Damen laughing a few feet away, and it soothed him like a balm. He supposed in another life, he would have hated it—been jealous, insecure, demanding of both their attention. But now all he felt was safe, even with his uncle looming over his head like a dark phantom.

They had decided to take the horses out for the day. The Regent had put up a fight about it, but Laurent dismissed him and his supposed concerns over riding the horse blind. “I’ve been riding since I could walk,” he said flippantly, and did his best not to give away the quelling fear in his gut. “And I’m sure Damen will take care to ensure nothing gets out of hand.”

The tone in his uncle’s voice was that of poorly disguised fury, and Laurent drank it in. He smiled more at breakfast, and readily accepted Damen’s suggestion that they invite Jord and Nikandros to join them. There would be a few of Auguste’s most trusted guards going along for the ride, and though it was not fool-proof protection, he felt safe enough.

With his hand on his horse, Laurent tried to understand the animal as best he could without really being able to read her body language. But she was one of Auguste’s favoured, and her temperament would be perfect for Laurent.

“She’s easy to direct, and doesn’t tend to wander. She’s never had an issue with being startled,” Auguste said as he handed the reigns over to his brother. His hand dropped on Laurent’s shoulder and squeezed. “We haven’t done this in so long.”

Laurent let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, don’t expect a race this time. I could still beat you, but then I’d probably wander us off a cliff.”

There was some tension in Auguste’s laughter, but he was doing his best to accept Laurent’s new normal. It was all Laurent could ask for, really.

A moment later, warm arms came round his waist, a nose pushing into the side of his neck, and warm breath warming him with a sigh. “You look nervous. Are you sure you want to go so far?”

“I’m sure,” Laurent said, letting his hands fall on top of Damen’s. “I trust you to keep me safe. And really, it’s not that far.”

And it truly wasn’t. A half hour ride, into the woods, and then to a clearing near the edge of a spring. There was room for the horses to rest in the shade, and the guards helped lay out a veritable feast for lunch. Laurent’s legs were shaking from the ride, his body aching from his tension, but it hadn’t been as bad as he expected. His horse stayed in a close trot next to Damen, and didn’t wander from the path. It was disconcerting to ride like that, not being able to see where he was going, but he let himself trust the animal, and soon enough they were dismounting, and his body began to relax.

He didn’t protest when Damen pulled him into the V of his legs, Damen resting his back against a tree. Laurent lounged easily, a bottle of water in his hand, his face turned up to feel the pinpricks of sunlight filtering through the trees as they washed over his face. He’d missed Vere. He loved the freedom of being away from it, from his uncle and from the past that threatened to choke him every time he thought too hard on it. But this was still home, in some ways, and he didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want to give his uncle the power to take that away from him.

“Alright?” Damen asked quietly.

Laurent hummed, giving a short nod, and then laid his head back against Damen’s shoulder as the rest of the group settled in to eat and talk.

“You know,” Jord said somewhere to Laurent’s right, “when I was little, I wrote a story for one of my creative writing modules about being a guard in the palace.”

Laurent snorted as Auguste said, with laughter in his voice, “Really?”

“It was…sort of a…fantasy,” Jord said, embarrassment in his voice. He laughed a little. “Full armour, swords, that sort of thing. I was the head of the guard, and there was a big battle and I…” He stopped, and then laughed when Nikandros urged him on with a soft noise. “We’d become allies with the Akielons. And I…I fell in love with the Kyros of Delpha. And it’s just strange to me that here I am now, with the King, of all people, and the Prince, and two Akielons.”

“One of whom you’re madly in love with,” Damen teased, squeezing Laurent round his middle.

Jord huffed. “Something like that. It always stuck with me. I mean, I got made fun of for the story—it was also when I knew I was a little…different.” He cleared his throat, then gave a hum as Nikandros leant over and kissed him. “Anyway…thank you, I suppose. For letting me live out at least a part of the fantasy.”

“You could always play guard for a day,” Auguste said with a slight laugh. “Might be fun.”

“Oh god, Nik would never let me live that down. I’ll pass but…thank you.” It was clear from his tone, he was flustered, and Laurent knew most people were like that round his brother. He was kingly, of course. Auguste had always been that way, but not a lot of people knew how he was in private. Normal, Laurent supposed, whatever normal was. Jovial, for sure, down to earth, and a kinder person than Laurent ever would be.

“Well, at the very least, you’re staying for the weekend, yes? We’re having a state dinner. I know you’ve been meaning to see your family, but you’re welcome at the palace,” Auguste said.

After some flustered thanks, they both agreed, then Laurent stretched and pushed himself up to stand. He held his hand down for Damen, and smiled when Damen used him for leverage to rise to his feet. “Let’s go for a walk. I need to stretch before I get back on the horse.”

“Be careful,” Auguste called to him.

Laurent huffed, but was grinning as he took Damen’s arm and started off toward the creek. “Let me guess, he was always like that?” Damen asked.

Laurent rolled his eyes, pausing as he felt the ground under his feet changing from soft earth to pebbles, and the air getting cooler from the water off the small stream. “Something like that. I was a…bit of a…handful when I was younger.”

“You mean you were a giant pain in the ass, never listening to anyone, doing whatever you wanted, and making life difficult for the adults?” Damen clarified.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Laurent detached himself from Damen’s arm once they’d reached the bank of the creek, and bent down. His hands felt out a clear, flat rock to sit on, then he removed his shoes, socks, and cuffed his trousers before dipping his toes in the cool water. After a moment, Damen joined him, and their bare ankles knocked together.

“It’s beautiful here,” he said quietly.

“Mm. This was always a favourite place for me,” Laurent confessed. “I’d come out here to read, mostly. So people would stop asking me to do things and…” His voice died off when he remembered what else he’d been escaping. It got easier, the older he was—when his uncle had become disinterested. Though with the others, the Regent had merely let go. With Laurent, he’d kept his claws in, even if it was through threats and coercion instead of anything physical. And by then, the damage was already done. He swallowed thickly and sighed.

“Do you…want me to tell you what it looks like?” There was hesitation in Damen’s voice, like he was uncertain if he was crossing a line, and it made Laurent smile for the courtesy Damen was showing him.

“No. I appreciate the thought but…I’d rather remember it as it was. It doesn’t really matter to me now, what it looks like. It still…feels the same,” he said.

Damen let his arm hook round Laurent’s waist, fingers pressing into his side lightly, reminding Laurent to stay grounded, present with him there. “When we get home, I would like to talk about…our arrangement.”

Laurent went cold all over, suddenly, fear prickling, worrying, and he did his best to stamp it down. He knew—deep down he knew, when Damen had a full understanding of Laurent—how he was broken, and how he was stained, he wouldn’t want him. But he had expected it to take a little longer than this. “Right… I…”

“Laurent,” Damen said, his voice patient and soft, “you’re panicking. I don’t want…I don’t want to stop seeing you. And I’m happy to pay the contract out so you don’t lose out. But this…” He let a breath out through his nose and pitched his voice low so no one would hear him. “This is…this means a lot, being with you. And I don’t want business hanging over our heads.” He let out a small sigh. “I just want you.”

“Oh.” Laurent was dizzy with the knowledge, suddenly. He knew Damen wanted him, but he didn’t realise he’d be willing to do all that. Then it hit him. Damen still didn’t know, and it was unfair to ask him to commit to Laurent blindly, and when he did find out… “Can we talk about it? When we get home?” _So you have time to change your mind,_ his brain finished silently.

“Of course,” Damen promised, then tipped Laurent’s head up for a kiss. “For now, we can just enjoy this, yeah?”

Laurent affected a smile, and a light tone, but the secrets began to weigh on him, crushing him from the inside. “Yeah,” he replied, but it was hard to mean it.

*** 

“So,” Damen said in Akielon, once he and Nik were finally alone. Laurent and Auguste were spending time together, and Jord had gotten roped into watching some of the guards prepare for a ceremony Damen had no real interest in. Veretians were a lot of pomp and show, which was pretty, but the business he had with Nikandros was far more pressing. “You’ve met the Regent, yes?”

They were out in the gardens, far from the house, and Damen had repeatedly checked the area to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. He didn’t trust they were totally private, but it was the best he was going to get.

“I have,” Nik said. “And I completely agree. There’s something really off about him. Jord and I went out for a bit and just chatted, you know. Got a feel for the public support. He really doesn’t have a lot, and there are…rumours.”

Damen felt a chill run up his spine. “Rumours.”

Nik made a face, his cheeks going dark, and he couldn’t look Damen in the eye when he continued. “That he has…certain tastes. That swing…young.”

Damen felt his face prickle. “How…young.”

“Very,” Nik said, and swallowed thickly with disgust. “Some of the people who were willing to talk openly said it’s an open secret. Sort of shit you find in corrupt politicians, you know? When they get busted with sex trafficking and what not? There’s never been any proof, and one of the people I talked to said that Auguste is a little too good, like he’s too willing to see the good in his family. But we met someone who’s…looking into it. For possible evidence.”

Damen’s ears were ringing with rage. “I need that evidence. He’s got something he’s holding over Laurent, and I swear to god if he put his hands on him…”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. I mean…has Laurent said anything like that?” Nik asked.

Damen shook his head. “No, but he’s always been reluctant to say much. His uncle has a strong hold on him, and I thought it was just because of Auguste but…I’m starting to wonder…” His brain didn’t want to walk that path, and his words died off. “When will you know if you have something concrete?”

“Tomorrow. But I want to warn you, I’ve heard he’s ruthless. Damen, he…” Nik sighed. “He might be able to find out, you know? What you and Laurent…have.”

Damen swore softly under his breath. The Regent had all-but threatened Damen, and he wouldn’t put it past the man to have some contacts. Ones that might already know who Damen was. There was only one real way to protect Laurent from all of this mess.

“I need to make a phone call,” he said, then stepped away, scrolled through his contacts, and pushed on Vannes’ name.

*** 

Damen found himself on edge through the rest of the day, and by night time, Laurent was so irritated with his mood, he dragged him down to the baths and insisted he soak, “Until you’ve figured out how to calm yourself.”

Damen bit back several retorts, deciding it was better if he took Laurent’s, albeit pushy, advice, and he stripped down and eased into the warm water. He half expected Laurent to leave him there, so when he glanced up to see the other man undressing, he let out a small noise of shock.

Completely naked, Laurent knelt by Damen, not climbing into the pool, but letting each leg fall on either side of Damen’s arms. He reached between them, and his fingers began quick, nimble work on Damen’s over-tense muscles.

“Laurent,” he groaned, arching into the touch.

Laurent chuckled and dug a little deeper into the knots. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but…”

Damen bit the inside of his cheek, uncertain what Laurent’s reaction would be if he told him the truth. But lying seemed a poor way to start out what might be their real relationship—outside of financial obligations and contracts—so he let out a breath, and decided to be brave. “Your uncle.”

Laurent froze, his hands not letting go, but resting still on Damen’s shoulders. “What about him?”

“He…didn’t threaten me, per se, but…”

“He made it plain he sees you as a threat and intends on doing something about it?” Laurent finished for him.

Damen pushed away from Laurent, slipping further into the pool, then touched the side of his knee. After a beat, Laurent dropped into the warm water and dropped to the stone bench. “Something like that. There’s something off-putting about him, Laurent, and I can’t put my finger on it. I have Jord and Nikandros looking into it and I…”

“Don’t,” Laurent said sharply, his voice ringing off the stones. “You don’t know what you’re doing. I…” He started to scramble away, but Damen caught his wrist and held him there, his grip loose enough Laurent could break free if he wished…but he didn’t. “Damen…you don’t know what you’re doing. My uncle has influence. He’s dangerous.”

“So am I,” Damen said. He tugged at Laurent, who came easier than Damen expected him to, and he rested his hands at Laurent’s waist. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” Laurent said, his voice barely a whisper.

Damen shook his head, pressing it against Laurent’s cheek so Laurent would be able to feel the motion. “Trust me. Whatever he has on you, whatever he’s done, I won’t let him hurt you again. Please. Please trust me.”

“I do,” Laurent said, his voice sounding soft, just the slightest tremble betraying how he really felt. “I do trust you, but I don’t trust him. You’re in enemy territory, Damen. And you have no idea how far he’s willing to go.”

“It’ll be a battle of wills,” Damen said, and reached up, cupping Laurent’s cheek. “And believe me, I’m far more stubborn than he is.”

Laurent couldn’t help the smallest laugh as he pushed himself into Damen’s palm, his eyes fluttering closed, his lips looking so plush Damen was helpless to do anything but kiss him. When he pulled back, Laurent sighed. “Take me to bed, Damen. Please. We can…talk more about this in the morning.”

Damen wanted to protest, but the invite to curl up with Laurent—whether or not Laurent wanted to do more than sleep didn’t matter—it was too tempting. They towelled off quickly, changing into pyjamas, then linked fingers as they made their way back to the bedroom.

The moment the door was locked, Laurent made it very plain he had more than sleeping on his mind. His hands darted out, shoving Damen against the door, and his fingers hooked round the waistband of Damen’s pyjamas. “I want you.”

Damen’s entire body went white-hot with desire. “Laurent,” he breathed.

Laurent’s fingers pushed, under the hem, brushing over his pants at the hardness which only grew at Laurent’s touch. “Will you give yourself to me?”

“Yes. God, yes, Laurent,” Damen managed as the rest of his head went wild with fantasy of…everything. Of Laurent dropping to his knees and taking Damen in his mouth. Of Laurent leading him to the bed, and taking Damen inside of him. Of Laurent pushing Damen onto his belly and slipping inside of Damen…

Everything, god. He wanted it.

“Anything,” Damen gasped after regaining some measure of control. “Everything I am, it’s yours, Laurent.”

Laurent’s mouth curved into an easy smile, and he pushed his hips up against Damen’s, grinding his hardness against Damen’s thigh. “Take me. I’m sure there’s oil or lube or something in here.”

It became a desperate search, as Laurent lay back in the sheets, peeling away his bedclothes with a precise, almost mechanic motion. By the time Damen located what he needed from the bathroom, Laurent was naked, lounging back against the headboard, wearing a sly grin.

Damen pushed himself over Laurent’s body then, his slick fingers finding where they needed to be, coaxing Laurent open. He took his time with it, the moment a gift—one he wasn’t sure Laurent would ever give him, so he planned to treat it with the most care.

Laurent was not content with being treated gently, however, and coaxed Damen into giving more. Harder, more fingers, deeper. Soon, Damen was shaking with need, and Laurent hooked his feet over Damen’s hips, and urged him inside.

There was a little resistance, but soon enough, Damen was reaching his climax, his hand between their bodies, ensuring Laurent would join him. It was over far too quick—moments like these, the closeness between them, Damen wanted to draw it out forever.

But when it was over, and Laurent moved to clean them up, there was a shift between them Damen had not anticipated. Laurent clung a little closer, his shoulders more relaxed than Damen thought they would be, and he dropped easy kisses along the wide expanse of Damen’s back.

“I want to wake up with you forever,” Laurent murmured.

Damen felt a different sort of pleasure shooting into every limb, tingling at his fingertips, giving him a sense of want and desperation he hadn’t felt…ever. He tucked Laurent into his side, and pushed his nose into Laurent’s hair, breathing him in. “As long as I can give you,” he promised. “I meant when I said it. Everything I am, Laurent, is yours.”

*** 

Damen had a lot of expectations for morning. Trading slow kisses, lounging, possibly bringing each other off again with sleep-heavy hands. Possibly going to his knees in the shower, giving Laurent every ounce of pleasure he could manage.

He did not expect to come to, with a guard stood over him, wearing an expression so grim it made Damen’s heart jump in his chest. “His highness is requesting your presence.”

Damen blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “His…highness.”

“King Auguste,” the guard clarified.

Damen reached over, then realised Laurent’s side of the bed was empty and cold. His pulse raced as he pushed himself up. “Where’s Laurent?”

“The prince is being detained currently,” the guard said, something in his voice Damen couldn’t read. “You have five minutes to dress.”

Panic rushed through his veins, and Damen swung his legs over the side of the bed. Mechanically, trying to quell his fear, he dressed and followed the guard down the corridor, through doors which led into a massive hall.

Damen’s heart nearly stopped when he saw Laurent at the front, facing both Auguste and the Regent—the latter wearing a smile so incredibly smug, Damen had to fight off the urge to punch him right there. Laurent looked horrified, well concealed behind his mask, but Damen knew him better by now. It was clear by the new line of tension in his shoulders, he knew that Damen had arrived.

When Damen came to a stop a few feet apart from Laurent, he turned angry eyes on the Regent. “What is this?”

“You’ll do well to watch your tongue, Damianos Akielos,” the Regent said, his smirk directed at Auguste now.

Auguste looked confused, devastated, his eyes red-rimmed. “Damianos Akielos,” Auguste said, his voice ringing out, “you are standing here accused of sexual assault and coercion on the Prince of Vere. The evidence presented is a contract binding the prince to your favour—sexual and otherwise.”

Damen’s mouth opened, then closed again. Laurent said nothing.

The Regent took a step forward. “The charge is high treason, and the penalty in Vere is execution. You will have time to contact your lawyer, and the embassy, but as of now, you are presently under arrest. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

Damen opened his mouth to speak when Laurent took a step forward. “It wasn’t him,” Laurent blurted, and the entire room froze. “The contract is real, but it was initiated by me. Let Damen go, and I’ll take the charges in his place.”

Auguste made a noise of protest, but the Regent merely clapped his hands and said, “Detain them both until further questioning.”

Damen’s head spun, and he had to keep himself from fighting as he was put in restraints and led down a dark corridor, to a small room with a heavy door. As the lock slid into place, Damen realised exactly what had happened. He hadn’t cancelled the contract with Vannes soon enough. Laurent’s confession had given Auguste all he needed as far as proof, and even if Damen managed to walk out of this alive, he knew there was a good chance he’d never see Laurent again.

His only real hope was Nikandros and Jord. The entire fate now rested on the information they could get to bring down the Regent of Vere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I will do my best not to leave this for too long, because I detest cliff-hangers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Of the main story. Just the epilogue next.
> 
> I just want to say thank you to everyone who commented on this fic. Your encouragement has made writing in this fandom 100000% worth it. 
> 
> CW for this chapter: implications of sexual assault of a minor. Nothing described in any detail, it's equal to canon, but please take caution if this sort of thing is triggering for you.

Laurent hadn’t felt like this in years. More time than he cared to think about, but it was bringing back unpleasant memories. Being in the dark, trapped, helpless. Right now the dark was due to being shoved in a room with almost no light, hands unbound, but under guard and under suspicion. His mind was torn—between what Auguste must be thinking, and between what was happening to Damen.

Laurent didn’t trust his uncle—didn’t trust the power he had, and the influence he held over Auguste. He didn’t trust that his uncle hadn’t already poisoned Auguste against Damen, and that was what worried him. He’d been unceremoniously dragged from his bed, and thrown before the Regent, the accusations raining down on him.

When Auguste finally joined them, the Regent changed tactics, trying to coerce Laurent into admitting Damen had forced him into it. Laurent had stayed resolutely silent on the matter, until he could get Auguste alone, and he wasn’t sure when that would be.

With a breath, Laurent tried to envision where he was. He knew it was a room off the main courts, but he had never spent time there as a child. He knew there was a lamp on, the barest flicker of light in his remaining vision, but it wasn’t enough to give him anything. He spent the next several minutes learning the area. A table, a stiff-backed chair, an unlit fireplace, stone walls.

Laurent had just come to a desk when the door open, and he swung round, keeping himself on guard.

Heavy footsteps—one person, alone, and he was certain it wasn’t his brother.

“Laurent,” drawled his uncle.

Laurent’s stomach twisted, but he kept his shoulders pulled back, his jaw tight. “Where is my brother?”

“Resting. This has all been…a lot for him.” The Regent’s voice was simpering, goading, trying to guilt Laurent into believing if anything happened to Auguste, it was his fault. And it wasn’t working but…the worry was still there. “He’ll be along once we can come to an…understanding.”

“There is nothing to understand,” Laurent snapped. “If you truly have the information you say you do, you’d be able to see that I was the one who accepted the contract. I was the one who sent the inquiry.”

“I’d be happy to show you what I do have,” his uncle said, “but I’m afraid I don’t have it in a medium you could read.”

Laurent stiffened and he tried to fight back the urge to launch himself at his uncle and attack. “You had no right to any of that private information. What I do in my personal time…”

“Is state business,” the Regent said. “Everything you do is a reflection of Vere, and you know it, Laurent. And for that man to take advantage of you…”

“You damn well know he didn’t!” Laurent shouted, and he heard his uncle take a step back.

“Calm yourself,” the Regent snapped, and Laurent felt his jaw snapping shut in spite of himself. “We will sort this out, of course. A resolution will be at hand. Of course Damianos is not bound to our laws, being that he is not from Vere but…”

“But nothing,” Laurent said. “I want to see him.”

“See him,” the Regent drawled.

“You know what I mean,” Laurent bit. “He was blindsided, just as I was, by your sickening desire to keep me under your boot, and I will not have him suffer for it. What we did was not illegal, and I won’t have you tarnishing his name simply to show you have power over me.”

“Do I, Laurent?” the Regent asked softly. He stepped closer, then closer until Laurent felt his uncle’s hand touching his shoulder. “Do I truly have power over you? You’re strong, intelligent, brave…”

“Stop,” Laurent breathed out, and wrenched himself out of his uncle’s grasp. “I want to see my brother. You have no rights to be in here, to question me. You are not the king.”

There was a tense pause, then the Regent took several steps back. “Very well. We’ll talk under more formal circumstances. You may want to get comfortable, this could be a while. I’ll have your next meal sent in.”

And then he was gone. The door slammed, the lock snicking into place, and then Laurent collapsed into a chair, his face falling into his hands.

*** 

“My name is Torveld,” the man said in accented Veretian.

Damen blinked up from his chair, moving until he heard the soft clink of chains, reminding him he was bound. His jaw tensed, and he took in the appearance of the man. Middle-aged, salt-and-pepper hair, thin, long nose, olive skin. “You’re not Akielon.”

Torveld sighed. “I work for the embassy. I’m Patran, but I have dual citizenship and I’ll be acting as your attorney for…”

“I’m not interested,” Damen said. “I want to speak to my attorney, and I want to speak to Nikandros.”

Torveld glanced at the door, then back at Damen. “We’re attempting a video conference with your attorney,” he said, “but as for your friend…”

“The Regent damn well knows he can’t hold me under these charges. The business that was conducted was under Akielon law—legal there, and as Laurent signed the contract as a resident of Delpha…”

Torveld lowered himself into the chair and leant toward Damen. “The King and the Regent are well aware, but they are only doing things by the book.”

Damen scoffed. “That is a lie, and you know it. If you think…”

“It’s not a matter of what I think. It’s a matter of you co-operating so we can get things moving along, and you can be released back home. Chances are you won’t be allowed entrance back to Vere but…”

“Stop,” Damen said, and Torveld’s words died on his lips. “This isn’t…I don’t care what happens to me. I care what happens to Laurent, and I care that he isn’t attempting to take responsibility for a crime that was not committed. And I think, if you do a little research into the evidence the Regent holds, none of it will show to exist. He has hard copies which mean nothing…if there is no paper trail.”

Torveld looked…interested. There was something in his body language that was telling Damen that maybe he was not quite friend, but most certainly not a foe. “I will…look into that.”

“And see about getting Nikandros in here. I don’t recall anywhere in Veretian laws that I would not be allowed visitors.”

Torveld nodded tersely, then pushed himself up. “If you need anything…”

“Besides being let out of chains,” Damen spat.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Then he was gone, leaving Damen to his thoughts.

It was all a shit-show. There was no other word for it. Damen had spent the night making love to Laurent and envisioning what their future would be like. Then he’d been unceremoniously dragged before the courts, and thrown into cuffs in a strange room with no idea where Laurent was, or what the Regent might be doing to him.

It was a clever move, Damen could see it straight away. Never letting Laurent have a moment of peace with his brother, never letting Auguste get a moment to doubt the Regent’s story, or understand that it hadn’t been anything untoward. Laurent would not explain to Damen even in the privacy of his Delpha flat why he’d decided to enter into the contract, though he knew it was to do with his uncle. And it was obvious the Regent knew Laurent would never confess to Auguste in front of him.

It meant he had Laurent at his mercy.

Damen knew what he had to do, but it was a matter of being able to see the Regent, with Laurent in the room. And that wasn’t a hand he had the power to force.

*** 

It was by some miracle, Damen supposed, that things worked out. That he was dragged—still in chains, to the court chambers. The Regent was there, looking wrong in Auguste’s place, staring down his nose at Laurent who was not bound, but alone in the middle of the room.

It was by the sound of Damen’s shuffling feet that Laurent seemed to know he was there, and his head turned, his blue eyes wide and wild.

“As you have requested, nephew,” the Regent drawled. “You wish to confess so Damianos will hear it, and we can move on?”

Damen made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but Laurent held up his hand. “Let me…”

“Don’t,” Damen said. “Laurent, if you just wait…”

“You’ve already asked enough of him, don’t you think?” the Regent sneered. “You’ve preyed on him—on his disability, you’ve taken advantage, and now you’re asking more?”

“Don’t,” Laurent whispered. “It wasn’t him.”

“So if the punishment for such treason was execution,” the Regent said, tapping his chin, “you say you’re willing to give your life for him?”

“Yes,” Laurent said stiffly.

“Enough!” Damen shouted.

Laurent winced, but shook his head. “I would.”

“If only it were so simple. Your brother seems inclined to sentence now, and deal with the repercussions later. It would be nothing more than a fine the kingdom would pay, and some bad press, but we’ve weathered more. And I think our citizens would love us more knowing we disposed of the man who would assault the prince…”

Laurent suddenly dropped to his knees, his head bowed. “Please, Uncle. It wasn’t him. Truly. And I can give you proof if you wish it.”

“If I wish it,” the Regent all-but purred as he abandoned his post to stand in front of Laurent’s kneeling form.

Bile rose in Damen’s throat, and he wanted nothing more than to break his chains and choke the life out of the Regent.

“You’d beg for a chance, yes?” the Regent simpered.

“Yes,” Laurent answered.

The Regent laughed, and turned his eyes on Damen. “He likes being on his knees for me, you know. Always has.”

Damen’s ears rang, and red dotted the corners of his vision. He hadn’t realised he was struggling against his bonds and shouting until Laurent flinched. But the moment was aborted suddenly, when there was a commotion down the corridor. The Regent looked briefly panicked, then Damen heard the muffled Akielon shouts in the corridor, and his shoulders immediately relaxed.

It was Nikandros, and likely it meant there was a plan.

The doors burst open not a moment later, and Nikandros was walked in, restrained and flanked by two guards. The Regent looked murderous, but triumphant as he shook his head, tutting his tongue. “This only goes to prove Akielons are nothing more than…”

Damen lost the rest of the sentence because Nikandros caught his eye and mouthed in their language, ‘Stall. Jord.’

Damen knew what that meant, and turned to the Regent. “I will not allow Laurent to take my place. And there will be no execution.”

The Regent looked up, the laughed. “Is that so?”

“It is so.” Damen squared his shoulders, then shuffled as close to Laurent as he dared, who remained on his knees. “You are not king in this land. You are nothing, and Auguste will not allow his brother, or anyone his brother loves, to come to harm.”

“You presume to know the king?”

“I know he’s a good man, and I know he sees reason. I know that his power and the love the people have for him is well earnt, unlike you.”

The Regent’s pale face went red, and he clenched his fists at his sides, clearly trying to keep control of his temper. “I do not…”

“Have the right to speak for the king?” Damen offered. “You are lower than the prince, whom you are treating like a criminal. The people here have love for Laurent as well, and I don’t think they’ll take kindly to your treatment of him, and your assumptions.”

“You think their love will last when they realise what he’s been doing in Delpha?” the Regent challenged.

“Dating a famous hockey player?” Damen asked, shrugging.

The Regent scoffed. “More than that. The evidence I have…”

“Is nothing more than pages printed from a computer. They will mean nothing the moment you try and prove that company exists. Which it does not.”

The Regent, for the first time, faltered. He took a step forward, than a step back. “That is not…”

Damen’s eyebrows rose. “I will be more than happy to wait as you attempt to verify something that does not exist.”

The Regent coughed, then stared at Laurent who didn’t move. “He admitted to it.”

“Out of fear and intimidation. I am not an expert in Veretian law, but I’m fairly sure you can’t accept a coerced confession.” Damen had no idea if any of this was true. His phone call to Vannes, the transfer of money to dissolve whatever public record they still had…it wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t move fast enough. But she was more than willing—if only to protect their high-end clients. She was no real friend of Vere—or at least no real friend of the Regent.

There was silence, so intense one could hear a pin-drop.

Then there were footsteps, and the doors to the court swung open. Auguste entered, pink in his cheeks, holding something in his palm with Jord trailing behind. His eyes swept the room, taking in the chaos—Damen in chains, the guards holding Nikandros, Laurent on his knees, the Regent looking petrified.

After a long silence, Auguste said, “Arrest the Regent of Vere. Take him to a secured cell until he can be questioned. Unchain Damianos and take him to a briefing room. And immediately release Nikandros.”

It all happened in a blur. Damen wanted to protest, to put his arms round Laurent and tell him they were taking care of it, but there was no time. He was shuffled down the corridor and put behind a locked door.

*** 

Laurent was shaking, the shock settling in, making him feel cold and clammy all over. Before he really realised what was happening, he was in the counsel chambers, in a chair with a warm cup of tea between his hands. Auguste was near him. Laurent could smell his familiar cologne, feel his knee pressing against his own.

“I need to understand what’s happening,” Auguste said.

Laurent clenched his jaw. “You might have come to me, instead of letting Uncle arrest me and drag me though public interrogation.”

He could all-but feel the wince from Auguste. “I cannot being to beg your forgiveness enough. Uncle…he had me so scared, the things he was saying…”

“Don’t,” Laurent said, more sharply than he meant to. He reached out in front of him, feeling for the desk, then slid the untouched tea on top of it. “I…know what he’s like.”

“All the same, I should have…”

“Yes,” Laurent interrupted again. “You should have. But…” He stopped, then breathed. “What happened. What do you know?”

Auguste hesitated, his breath hitching a little, then he said, “Damianos’ friends were able to obtain video evidence of Uncle engaging in…” His words dropped, sounding sickened, and Laurent knew then, exactly what Laurent had seen.

“How many?” Laurent asked.

“Two,” Auguste said. “Recent. But I suspect…”

“Yes,” Laurent confirmed, and he felt Auguste’s knee against his own startle, and stiffen. “Yes, there is most certainly more. For many years.”

“Did he…” Auguste’s voice faltered again. “Did you…”

Laurent hesitated, because for all these years, he’d never let himself really say it aloud. But…it was time. “Yes,” he said, and Auguste made a noise like a wounded animal.

“When?” Auguste demanded.

“After father died,” Laurent said. “After one of your surgeries, when we were uncertain if you would…make it.” He cleared his throat. “I was afraid and he…” He swallowed, shaking his head. “I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t know how to stop it, and eventually he…became disinterested.”

“Why didn’t you ever say? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Auguste asked, his voice breaking.

“He told me it would kill you,” Laurent spat bitterly. “He said the stress would stop your heart…and I couldn’t lose you. And I…I was too afraid to realise how ridiculous it was.” Laurent dragged a hand down his face, letting out a shuddering sigh. “When I got to Delpha, I realised I had to…I had to find a way to get out from under him. He had control over my finances—my home, my school, everything. So when I learnt about the company that…”

“That Damianos was part of…”

Laurent gave a stiff nod. “It seemed like the only way. I was afraid for you, and I was afraid if I said something it would kill you. And if that didn’t, then Uncle would.”

“Laurent,” Auguste said after some time. “Can I…” He touched Laurent’s knee, then after a long pause, Laurent nodded and suddenly he was in Auguste’s arms.

Neither cried, neither had the strength for it, and Laurent had cried all of his tears over his uncle too many years ago. But the relief that it was out there, that he no longer had to hide, was almost too much. He let out a shuddering breath, then pulled away.

“What will happen to him?”

Auguste sighed. “He will be stripped of his title, prosecuted under the full extent of the law.”

Laurent knew what that meant, and although a man like his uncle deserved it, it still left him with a sick feeling in his gut. “I would…not like to be present for that.”

“Of course,” Auguste murmured. He sighed, then stood up. “I would like to speak with Damianos. And then I can…” He hesitated. “Help me understand what it is the two of you are to each other, Laurent. Because I know it was more. I know I saw love in your eyes, and he seemed like he felt the same.”

Laurent flushed, and he tipped his head down toward his clasped hands. “I should hope he does. Because I do love him, Auguste. I’m not sure…what we are. We didn’t have time to figure it out before all of this.”

“Then I won’t take up too much of your time,” he said, and in moments, he was gone.

*** 

Damen was all but thrumming with anticipation and anxiety as he followed the guard to Laurent. The visit with the king had been quick, a profuse apology, a quiet warning that should Damen ever hurt his brother, he would pay. Damen was quick to assure Auguste it was more than just a contract—that he was in love, more than he’d ever been. Damen didn’t ask about the Regent, what was to become of him, or how it would be handled.

He just wanted to get his arms round Laurent, to hold him close and reassure them both that it was over, and they were safe.

The door stood before him, like a beacon, and he didn’t wait for the guard to open it. He turned the handle and burst in. Laurent was there, sat near the fire, but was on his feet the moment Damen entered. The door shut, the sound ringing through the room, then they both began to move.

Damen caught Laurent mid-step, crushing him to his chest, his lips finding his warm skin to press dragging kisses, to assure them both that this wasn’t a fantasy.

“I told him,” Laurent murmured after a long silence. “My brother. I told him about…my uncle and…” He broke off, and Damen tipped his head up by the chin, pushing their noses together.

“I’m proud of you. You are unbelievably, foolishly brave, and I have never been more in awe of another person in my entire life.” Damen brushed his lips along Laurent’s cheekbone, breathing out a sigh. “I’m in love with you.”

Laurent’s breath hitched, then he let out a sort of wet laugh and clung tight to the front of Damen’s shirt. “I…feel the same.” He shook his head, closing his eyes as Damen’s fingers wound through his hair. “I didn’t think…after you found out about my uncle, I didn’t think you would. Because I’m…”

Damen waited, then urged him on. “You’re…?”

“Broken,” Laurent said. His voice didn’t tremble, didn’t sound hesitant. It was just a statement, and that broke Damen’s heart.

“What you went through, Laurent…I can’t imagine it. I don’t want to. I never want to think of you afraid, or hurting, or…or anything he put you through. If I could get away with killing him myself, I would. But you aren’t broken. You’re just you, and I’m not sure anything you tell me could make me love you less.” Damen’s lips descended slow, easy, giving Laurent time to pull away if it was too much. But Laurent returned the kiss, eager and earnest, one hand digging into Damen’s curls. “Whatever you need after this…we will get it. Someone to talk to, to work through it…”

“That might be…that would be good,” Laurent admitted, in a tone that said he was certain, but maybe a little surprised in himself. After a beat, Laurent sagged against him and sighed. “I want to go to bed. Then…then I want to go home.”

“Home,” Damen repeated.

Laurent pushed on his toes to kiss Damen one more time. “Home. Delpha, with you. Please, Damianos. Take me home.”

Damen swept Laurent close to him, possessive and happy, and feeling free that he could have this, and keep it, for as long as Laurent would have him. “Okay,” he promised. “Let’s get some sleep. Then…then we can go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy epilogue next.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! Thank you so so so much for sticking with this. I love you all so bloody much I can't stand it. Every comment means the world to me. Consider this a million hugs to all of you. x

There was no fatigue quite like the sort which came from bearing his soul to a total stranger. Necessary, yes, and cathartic—even more so. But it left Laurent in a funk for hours, sometimes days. It was getting easier as time passed though, as the season wore on drawing him closer to finishing his degree, and Damen getting closer to the Cup.

Gripping his cane tightly, Laurent walked the familiar steps to the flat, giving a passing nod exactly where he knew the doorman would be, and he swiped his key card at the lift. His fingers searched out the button for his floor, and the soft voice soothed him, reminding him he was nearly home. He’d spoken to Laurent a few times that day, a couple of texts, a phone call between lectures and therapy, and all Laurent really wanted right then was to collapse in his boyfriend’s arms and let the day seep out of his tense muscles.

Stepping into the hall, Laurent was almost humming with the anxiety of anticipation, so close to home, each step feeling like a mile. He put his key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside. It was quiet for a minute, then he heard soft music coming from the second bedroom where Damen was probably watching tape. He had a couple of games that weekend, long practises between now and then, and a stretch of Bye Week which would see them most likely on a holiday to Vere where Laurent would get to see Auguste, Sophie, and his new nephew, Nicaise who was now getting to the mobile age of crawling—nearly walking.

It had been a very long year. Laurent felt it in his bones as he reached for the hook near the door, hung his cane, and then made his way toward the noise. Hand outstretched, he brushed his fingers along the door until he found the door handle, and pushed his way inside.

He knew by now to just walk in. Damen kept the floor clear of most obstacles, and he never minded when Laurent joined him, but he preferred a quiet cuddle so he could focus. Today was no different. Damen gave a quick grunt for his hello, but quickly took Laurent into his arms and they settled back to lounge on the squashy sofa.

Damen’s eyes were most assuredly fixed on the TV, likely watching the same play over and over. Laurent knew one of Damen’s hands was curled round the remote. But his other went right for Laurent’s hair, blunt nails dragging across his scalp. Laurent settled easily against Damen’s chest, between the strong V in his legs, fitting there like that’s where he was always meant to be.

His breath came out in a quiet huff as he settled, and his eyes closed.

Nearly half an hour passed before the noise from the TV stopped, then the thunk of the remote hitting carpet, then Damen’s other hand coming over to encircle Laurent’s waist. Damen shifted so he was lying back, Laurent blanketing him on top, and his nose brushed through Laurent’s hair, snuffling against him for a long moment.

“Hello, my love.”

“Mm,” Laurent muttered, sleepy and lazy.

“How was your appointment?”

It was spoken in a way that reminded Laurent he could talk about it, or he could stay silent. Damen never pushed, never tried to force Laurent to deal with his past at home—which was his safe space to do with as he pleased. But it hadn’t been the worst today, even though the topic had been a little…much.

“She asked about my uncle’s execution today,” Laurent finally said, and he felt Damen’s arms tighten round him. “I didn’t talk too much about him, but she wanted to know since it’s been a while, if it’s made any difference in how I feel.”

Damen brushed his warm lips against Laurent’s temple. “Alright.”

Laurent breathed out slowly. “Nothing’s changed. I feel safe still—nervous about visiting with Auguste, and there are times when I forget that when my phone rings, it won’t ever be him again. And there’s still regret, because I wish I’d said something sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference in another child’s life. I still feel cowardly.”

Damen tensed, and Laurent knew his boyfriend wanted to assure him he was not a coward. But they’d been over it, and there was no sense in beating the subject to death. Damen would always believe him the bravest man, and Laurent would always be profoundly aware of his own weaknesses. That’s just how life was.

But Damen understood, too. Five months after they returned from Vere—which was exactly three months after the Regent was executed for his crimes—they found Kastor’s body. Kastor had been dead for quite some time. DNA evidence was required to ID the body, and after examination, it was determined there had been an altercation and Kastor had been stabbed.

There had been a cursory investigation into the crime, but no leads, and no suspects. Laurent talked to Damen about it sometimes, but Damen was always plain about his feelings. “I wish he was still alive, only because I believe if given the right circumstances, he could have been a better man. But I wouldn’t sacrifice a single moment with you for him. And the manner of his death does not surprise me.”

Damen didn’t waste any of his resources in trying to find Kastor’s killer.

Jokaste had moved on, though staying close after Damen assured her he did want to have the baby in his life. His nephew spent a good deal of time with them, and Laurent occasionally entertained fantasies of marrying Damen, of adopting children, of having something so painfully domestic.

The idea terrified him in some respects. How badly he’d probably fuck it up, how selfish he was by nature. He didn’t want to share Damen, though he supposed his love of their child wouldn’t feel like sharing at all. But he didn’t trust himself much, either, to do right by someone.

They were young, though. There was time, and Damen seemed in no hurry.

“I will marry you one day,” he promised all the time, kissing Laurent slow and sweet, making his toes curl, paying worship to every inch of skin.

Laurent would push inside of Damen, a bruising grip on Damen’s hips, feeling himself pulsing and too close just from the slightest movement. And then Damen would whisper those words and Laurent would shudder, and come just from that.

Damen loved it, ached for it all the time, knowing that just that alone could send Laurent careening over the edge.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” Damen asked, changing the subject when he sensed Laurent’d had enough talking about those things for the day.

Breathing in deep, Laurent let it out in a slow sigh, and turned so his ear was pressed against the gentle thumping of Damen’s heart. “Order delivery? I literally don’t care what. I’m exhausted and if I have to think anymore—even about food—my brain is going to leak out of my ears.”

Damen chuckled softly, his hand reaching up, a finger under Laurent’s chin to draw his face up for a kiss. It was warm, it was _home_. “We can do that. It’s better since everything here is a little…intense. With playoffs looming. Some asshole was camped out by my car in the garage today.”

“What?” Laurent said, pushing up, his face drawn and indignant. He felt ready to march down to whatever publication had sent a man to violent Damen’s privacy like that and beat him to a pulp.

Damen merely laughed again, his large palm cupping Laurent’s cheek. “It’s fine. Security got him before things got ugly. Though from the look of things, he was after info about you and me.”

Laurent snorted. “That’s…fantastic. They’ve probably been tailing me all day and I had no idea.”

Damen hummed, the sound a little distressed, but he kissed Laurent once more before pushing them both up, then to stand. Their fingers tangled and they headed out into the lounge where their other sofa waited. Laurent could not get over the softness of his life inside that little flat, even if the outside held cold, sharp edges.

“I’m going to order Thai,” Damen said as he made himself comfortable.

Laurent heard him tapping on his screen, so he took a moment to make sure his braille ereader was nearby. No doubt Damen would get sucked into one of his crap reality TV shows—the only way he could unwind before a long stretch of games—and Laurent was not in the mood for bullshit. But he had a good book loaded, and just having Damen near was enough.

“Okay, I got you Gaeng keaw wan with noodles, but rice on the side, too. Now come here,” Damen ordered, and Laurent laughed as he was dragged up against Damen’s chest.

He turned on his side, hands spread out, feeling the taut muscles beneath the pads of his fingers through Damen’s thin shirt. “What are you wearing?”

“My old Gladiators shirt,” Damen muttered, dipping his head low to kiss along Laurent’s neck. “And my grey joggers.”

He never hesitated to answer, even when he knew there was no point in it. Why would Laurent need to know what Damen was lounging round the house in? But stuff like that just came easy between them. Any photo Auguste texted of him, of Sophie, of Nicaise…Damen didn’t need to be asked. He described every detail, and it was because of that Laurent didn’t feel like he’d lost much at all. He felt more whole and complete now that he ever had.

“When we have kids,” Damen said easily, and it made Laurent stiffen, but he didn’t stop, “what do we tell them when they ask how we met?”

Laurent groaned, elbowing Damen lightly. “Are you serious?”

“What?” Damen asked, and Laurent could hear the wide grin in his voice. Damen nipped at the edge of Laurent’s jaw. “I mean, we can just go with the, we met online. With the way technology is going these days, everyone will just have virtual reality marriages or some shit by the time our kids are old enough. Meeting online will be archaic.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Laurent muttered, and for that he was kissed again.

“Yes,” Damen said, then helpless and happy, “and you love it.”

Just as helpless and happy, “I do.” Laurent sighed and dropped his nose to Damen’s soft curls. “But I suppose we should tell them the truth.”

Damen let out a startled giggle. “Really? You think so?”

Laurent huffed, dragging his nails against the back of Damen’s neck, feeling his moan more than he heard it. “If we don’t, Nikandros and Jord will. I don’t think they’ll take any small pleasure in getting to tell them that you used to be my…my…”

“Sugar Daddy?” Damen said, the grin in his voice so wide, Laurent smacked him on the arm again.

“You’ll enjoy it too much. We can never have children,” Laurent said with a sniff.

Damen moved so fast, so unexpected, Laurent let out a startled yelp as he was turned, pressed against the cushions, and lips began to devour his neck. “Take it back,” Damen muttered. His hand trailed down toward Laurent’s crotch, and grinned against his flushed skin when he felt Laurent arched toward him. “Take it back now.”

“Or what?” Laurent asked, breathless. Damen pushed the heel of his palm into Laurent’s hard dick, then stroked upward once.

“Or nothing,” Damen admitted after a long silence. “You know I can’t resist you. Can’t keep my hands off you.” He punctuated that sentence by a hand down the front of Laurent’s trousers.

Laurent let out a hiss, pushing into the circle of Damen’s hand, then let his head fall back. “You win,” he said, a little breathless.

He could feel Damen’s grin of triumph as Damen kissed his way up Laurent’s neck, to his mouth. “Do I?”

“You always win,” Laurent muttered, then curled his fingers in Damen’s hair as he was slowly brought off. When it was over, and Damen had cleaned him up, then tucked him back against his chest, Laurent let out a breath. “I do…want that with you, you know?” He paused. “Family. Marriage. All of it.”

Damen let out a small hum, nuzzling his cheek with the tip of his nose, then breathed out a happy sigh. “So do I, Laurent. And there’s no race, we can take it as slow as we need. We have time.”

Laurent grinned, and let himself be held tight. “Yes, Damianos. Yes, we do.”


End file.
